


The Name of the Game

by punkfaerie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BAMF Yuuri watching out for himself and his son, M/M, Mamma Mia AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Character, here's another movie i really like lmao, slight crack i guess, there will be some singing u best believe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkfaerie/pseuds/punkfaerie
Summary: Mamma Mia, even if I say"Bye bye, leave me now or never"Mamma Mia, it's a game we play"Bye bye" doesn't mean forever---The story of how Yurio inherits his dad's curiosity and stubborness, and Yuuri's past comes back to bite him in the ass in the worst (and best) possible way.Alternatively: the musical AU you didn't know you needed until now.





	1. I Have A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, here again with another movie/musical AU because I'm really into those.
> 
> I'm gonna be honest and credit another author for inspiring me to write this. They wrote a short fic based on the first scene of the musical and I had been thinking about this AU for a while, so thank you for inspiring me :') Unfortunately I can't remember the name nor can I find it... It's been a while since I read it but I'll keep looking. I always get really excited when others share my interests!!
> 
> I love this musical, it's one of my favorites! In fact, I just love musicals in general. Hmu with an AU idea if you have one (I already have a RENT AU in progress).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you see the wonders of a fairytale, you can take the future even if you fail._

Yurio stares up at the ceiling, as though it were the only thing in the world he could be doing.

Which in reality it is because the lethargy of summer has hit him full on. People assume that just because you live in the lone island villa of a beautiful Greek island that you’d have your hands tied this time of the year. It’s actually quite the opposite here – the island is so small that it would take him just under five hours to drive the truck from one end of Kalokairi to the other. There are bigger, prettier islands for that.

 _Kalokairi is only for the adventurous_ , he thinks to himself, more so as a reminder that even though he feels like it’s the only island sometimes, there’s more out there. As though he blames it (whether _it_ be the isolation or the bigger, prettier islands, he doesn’t really know) for their economic struggles, which they really have nothing unbearable. Rather, it’s the resources they lack and the expense of them on the mainland. That’s what dad doesn’t like to worry about but is, ironically, the only thing he ever seems to worry about. 

There’s a dull panging in his chest, the kind that’s always there nagging at his heart, willing his limbs to move and do _something_.

 _Anything,_ he thinks instead, _anything._

 _Anything_ meaning his fingers reach for the bound black Moleskine journals from the nineties that his dad had written all throughout college, all throughout his journey through self discovery, all throughout…

His pregnancy. 

He’s always known they were a little different from the traditional families on Kalokairi, and his father taught him to embrace that. To welcome it like an old friend that’s always been there. And yes, it really has been an old friend, understanding and kind; now Yurio’s come to associate that feeling with his dad and his friends. They ground him, reminding him that he’s here and present and is just as he should be. 

The fear of never knowing himself always haunt him, but on good days, days like these, he can find himself in another world. He’s always loved reading dad’s journals – not that dad would ever know, or in fact should ever know – because it’s like a glimpse into an alternative world. Like a past where he sees himself stuck on a little island with nowhere to go and he feels like he’s drowning in lies. It’s an overwhelming, intense saga of his adolescent woes, how he knows he’s not who he should be, and how he feels so alone in the world. Then love comes and sweeps him off his feet. 

But of course, Yurio doesn’t care much for love because there are bigger mysteries in life.

Mysteries, such as in journal number five, why did dad quit dancing and open up a hotel since he graduated with a performing arts degree? And in journal number two, why did dad settle for a miniscule dot on the grid, just under the leg of the “A” in Aegean, versus his own comfortable home in Japan?

In journal number six, who was Yulia Plisetskaya and why was he named after her? (He knew she was some great aunt of his, but no one else seemed to know anything else about her other than that and her name.)

More importantly, hidden in journal number four, who was Viktor Nikiforov, Christophe Giacometti, and Seung-gil Lee? And how come nearly every entry ended with a “...”? (He could’ve sworn the names sounded bitingly familiar, taunting in the way that Yurio knows he’s not _just_ Japanese, but has never had the mind to pry any further.)

Yurio’s brows furrow, his expression contorting in frustration as his lithe fingers graze the faded ink on the page. They tingle slightly, as though channeling the energy his dad felt all those years ago, feeling how the pen had indented the pages once upon a time.

“Who are you?” He mutters under his breath, frowning at the words. The only light in the room comes from a faded desk lamp that flickers if you jostle the table enough and the full moon looming ominously from the window to the left of the bed.

His idea really comes to him in a dream one night, maybe years ago or just last weekend even, but it’s been a constant in his life. Just like how his dad’s presence is, or Beka and Kenjiro’s antics are, or the forever lingering pang of self-doubt he seemed to have inherited from his lone parent. But in a way it’s comfortable, as most constants tend to be.

It always starts out simple, his dad’s strong arms wrapped around his little nine- maybe ten-year-old self, and he asks about his other dad. Dad tells him that Papa is far away on a trip so he tells little Yurio to write letters until he comes home. Little Yurio grins up at a version of his dad from years ago and runs over to the desk across the bed. (That on its own is enough of an indicator that this is a dream, because his dad’s desk is an antique secretary desk from a great aunt that he never knew, and is kept locked at all times.) But by the time he gets to the pen and paper, he has no inkling of his Papa’s name. So little Yurio turns to face his dad on the bed, but is met instead by an empty room. 

Back when Yurio was much smaller, around nine or ten when he first had that dream, it ended there because nothing was scarier than his dad not being there. Later in life, he stayed in his dreams longer. Those dreams were always fuzzy, but the lack of knowledge always remained a constant. Those were his dreams, and on some nights they are his nightmares.

Because in a way, Yurio’s never felt _whole_ in the sense that something in his life is missing. Not that his life is unbearable (he loves almost everything about his life), but self-doubt is as much of a friend as surety is. And he would never disregard everything his dad’s done for him – it’s unimaginable – he considers him his best friend. Yet the fact stands that there are some things he doesn’t know that he’s afraid he’ll never know. Being his father’s son means he has that equally stubborn streak of impatience and desire. What he won’t be told, he’ll get it for himself one way or another.

So this is how he finds himself sitting at the desk in the villa’s main office, faded wallpaper and all, writing on his dad’s professional stationery that he only saves for special occasions (which this is a special occasion, he tells himself) with one of the fancy fountain pens that he learned cursive in. People have always praised him for his graceful penmanship, much like his own father’s, so he decides to put it to use.

By the time he’s done, he finds himself somewhere else yet again. His feet seem to be taking him to odd places in the wake of morning, but he can’t help the excitement that buzzes in his chest. It’s similar to how he has that constant throbbing in his chest, but it’s much better, much more invigorating and renewing.

The postbox just outside the villa conveniently looks over the sea where he hopes his words will travel just far enough to be heard. Yurio eyes the envelopes, all embellished with the same expert Yuuri-like cursive, and takes a deep breath in. _This is it._

“Viktor Nikiforov.” (He wrote his name in Cyrillic, just in case. It’s copied from the scratchy attempts his dad made in the journal.)

“Christophe Giacometti.”

“Lee Seung-gil.” (He wrote his name in Hangul, also just in case. Dad’s Hangul is much easier to translate than his Cyrillic.)

He exhales each name like a silent prayer, begging to be heard.

It’s strange, begging to strangers he’s never met and probably a plethora of gods in the sky, but he still pleads and prays that maybe, just maybe, things will be different this time.

Maybe these strangers will have familiar faces – all kind and warm like his dad’s, loving all the same – and maybe he’ll recognize _him_ at first sight.

 

Or as his Uncle Phichit would put it, his _impromptu sperm donor_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live on the hellsite: [y-katsukiis](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)


	2. Honey, Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’ve heard about you before… I wanted to know some more… And now I’m about to see what you mean to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few notes about Yurio in this AU, first of all he looks much more boyish than in the show. For one thing, I like to imagine he's going through a phase of trying out new things. He's obviously the other trans character in this fic meaning he's rediscovering his self-image. I still imagine fifteen year old Yurio looking similar to himself in-show, but plenty of things can happen in the span of four years – hence his more boyish appearance. Who knows, maybe he'll considering having longer hair in the future again *shrug*
> 
> He still has his fairy-like build that he's very irritated about but Yuuri teaches him to accept himself as he is, of course. We're here for body positivity, my dudes. On the other hand, Yuuri has a more muscular build. Still somewhat effeminate but he has had top surgery way back when Yurio was a little kid (he can barely remember it tbh). They could never afford hormone therapy but Yuuri would much rather save up for Yurio's than his own if/when he wants it.
> 
> I like A/B/O fics, I just didn't think I was one to write something with it. But I do know that there are people who discover themselves later in life and even then it's never too late to become who you want to be. Yuuri's story will surely show that, but that's your little bit of knowledge for now!
> 
> Not beta'd.

“Yurio!” Yuuri yells from the courtyard. The sound easily travels up, through his widely opened window, and straight to where he lays on the bed. He grumbles, writhing in the cotton sheets whilst kicking them away from his sweaty legs.

Summer is always struggle of sorts despite his lifelong exposure to the climate. It’s a somewhat painful reminder that he has never experienced snow or anything cooler than maybe twelve celsius, but he’s simultaneously pleased to wear as little clothing as possible. The breeze, however, is pleasant and cool against his feverish skin.

“Yurio?” This time the call comes from just outside his door, walking up the staircase and gaining volume as the voice approaches his room. “Yurochka?”

He groans again.

Someone pushes his door open because he hears the telltale creaking and scratching on the floor, and he feels a presence loom over him. It blocks out the sun at least.

 “Five more minutes.” He whines, burying his face further into the pillow. The mattress dips as a presence leans over him.

“Yuri, you said you were going to meet Otabek and Kenjirou-kun when they arrive at the docks.” The voice hovering above him scolds, albeit somewhat lightheartedly. That earns another drawn out whine. “Fine, don’t be upset when I say that their boat docks in fifteen minutes. 

Yurio’s eyes snap open. “Shit!” He bolts out of the bed, kicking a stool in the process, and hisses in pain as he tumbles into the bathroom. The voice from behind him laughs and follows behind. “Dad, why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“I did.” Yuuri hums, grinning at his son’s exasperation. “In fact, I did three times in the last hour. Each time you replied with “ _five more minutes_ ” just like the last.” His hands find his way into Yurio’s hair, desperately attempting to brush out the bedhead.

“I inherited the incapability of getting off my ass from you! Next time just drag me out!” Yurio groans through the toothpaste in his mouth while Yuuri combs his hair, this time with a small dollop of gel, and styles it up and out of his face – just the way he likes it.

“Last time someone did that, your foot ended up in their knee.” Yuuri quips. It earns a half hearted glare from the young man in front of him but, Yuuri being Yuuri, smiles fondly back at him. “At least make sure you put some pants on before running out.”

Yurio gives himself a once-over in the mirror and notes that he is only wearing an oversized blue shirt and briefs. “Good point.” He nods to himself as Yuuri mirrors the action.

“Get dressed, you can grab an apple or something on the way out.” Yuuri presses a quick kiss to his temple and saunters back out the bathroom door. He’s in the process of fishing for some shorts when Yuuri turns back around and asks “Did you need your binder? It’s still on the line but it should be nearly dry by now.”

Yurio thinks for a moment, and while it would be preferred, the heat is really killing him this morning. He’ll slip on one of his emergency sports bra for now. “Later.” He replies. His dad replies with a smile and a nod and is gone back down the stairs, off into the courtyard to go about his duties. Most of which entails repairing every other square inch of the facility.

He really is thankful for him because no one quite gets him like his dad does. There’s an unspeakable connection between them. He thinks it’s because it’s only ever been the two of them for the last nineteen years. But sometimes he wonders what it’s like to have a little more.

He’s not ungrateful and has never considered himself so. Yuuri not only raised him on his own, but ran an entire business venture while relying entirely on entailments from a distant relative and his own handiwork. Why would Yurio ever be ungrateful? He only ever feels more indebted yet dad never asks him for more. Nothing along the lines of more work, more help, more money – no, dad likes doing things on his own terms and everyone respects that. Yurio respects him the most.

Black Moleskine journal number four, the one that he had been leafing through a few days earlier, sat painfully in view on his nightstand. How Yuuri missed it he doesn’t know but is relieved regardless because he had to show this to Beka and Kenji. Someone had to know about it, er, what he had _done_.

Thinking about it makes his palms sweatier than they already were, and the panging in his chest increases ever so slightly. He blames it on his heart rate kicking up as he runs down the dirt roads, sprinting to make it to the hotel’s private dock just in time.

And he sprints around the shrubbery at the end of the dock, both Otabek and Kenjirou are waiting on the other end of the dock, excitedly talking amongst themselves. Beka has always been more withdrawn in his expressions, but he definitely notices that telltale smirk on his friend’s face.

Kenjirou notices Yurio first and bursts out into a full on shriek while yelling his name.

“Yurio!” He cries out with wide open arms. Beka is running alongside him, an equally huge grin plastered on his face.

Yurio can’t help the excited laugh that bubbles through his chest as it erupts with a shriek matching Kenjirou’s own. “Oh my god, you guys!”

He leaps into Kenjirou’s arms, easily swung around by the amount of muscle he gained since last year. “Holy shit, Kenji-kun, you are ripped!” Yurio exhales, teasing at his arms. “Beka, you got even taller! How?” He jokingly gripes at the tallest between the two.

“I can’t believe it’s been a whole _year_!” Kenjirou drawls out his exaggerated cry as he buries his face in the crook of Yurio’s neck. “Oh, my little Yurochka you’ve gotten bigger too!”

“Please, I’m pretty sure I stopped growing in eighth grade.” He snickers, hooking both arms around their necks. “Besides, I’m average height. You dipshits are just tall.”

Otabek snorts. “Sure thing, small fry.” That earns him a tighter grip from Yurio’s left arm, grunting slightly at the discomfort. “Okay, okay, I give.”

“Jackass.” Yurio smirks and displaces his arms from both of them. “I’m so glad you guys are finally here because…” His voice trails off, eyeing the expressions of his friends nervously. He hadn’t given the subject much thought since that night.

The two other boys share an expression of confusion before turning to him with blatant suspicion.

“I have a secret that you absolutely _cannot_ tell anyone about. Not even my dad.” At that their eyes grow wide, because Yurio keeping a secret from _his dad_ Is a huge fucking deal.

“You’re not knocked up are you?” Kenjirou gasps.

“Wha– Why would you even–” Yurio sputters, “No! God, fuck, no!” He reaches around his back to where the slipped journal number four between the waistband of his shorts. “It’s because I found this.” He smirks, holding the journal up with two hands in front of his friends.

Otabek quirks a brow. “A journal?”

“Not _just_ a journal!” Yurio clutches the book to his chest, smiling broadly. “It’s  _dad’s_.”

Kenjirou gasps scandalously. “Yurio! Have you been snooping?”

“Oh please, I’ve known about this damn thing for ages.” He pouts, upturning his nose at them. They begin walking off the dock at a leisurely pace, immediately following the path through the light foliage versus the dirt road Yurio took earlier. “This, my dear boys, is black Moleskine journal number four.” He introduces the book with a flourish while his friends trail just behind.

“Number four?” Kenjirou asks as the boy in front of him thumbs the pages. “There’s more?”

“Yes, but those ones aren’t as important.” _At least not in this case_ , he reassures himself. All of dad’s journals are important to him. “This is the diary dad kept when he was expecting.”

Otabek walks a little faster, trying to match the pace of the two younger boys in front of him. “You mean his…?”

“Pregnancy diary? Yes.” Yurio gives a cheshire cat-like grin. “And you know what’s in it?” Both friends give him a puzzled look to which he rolls his eyes.

“Okay, you know how I’ve always felt a little off? Like something’s missing?” He keeps his eyes downcast slightly and presses the pages against his chest.

“Nothing’s off with you, Yurio.” Otabek offers, frowning slightly. It’s a sensitive topic amongst them since they’ve spent years helping him work up to his current level of self-worth. The boy in question turns around and glares at him. 

Yurio pouts. “I know that, idiot! Well, you also know how I’ve always wondered who my biological father was.”

“So he’s in the journal then?” Kenjirou gasps. Yurio winces slightly.

“Kind of?”

“What do you mean _kind of_?” Otabek muses. “Is he or is he not?”

Yurio stops in his tracks. “Alright, listen to this.” He twirls on his foot to face his friends but keeps his eyes trained on the pages.

“June 26th, ‘97.” Yurio begins, raising a finger. “ _What a night! After Peach and Gee’s excessive begging, I agreed to let them take me out after our performance._ ” His face breaks out into a smirk upon reading the next line, _“And then I met him_ –”

“Your dad?” Kenji interrupts with a squeal.

“Let me finish,” Yurio hisses. “ _Him being a beautiful blue-eyed, silver-haired (I know what you’re thinking, and he’s actually just twenty-five) Russian GOD. I mean, really? An ass that nice? And don’t get me started on –_ ”

“We get it! Continue onto the plot!” Beka cuts off his dad’s written rambling.

Nodding, Yurio skips ahead because this goes on for another page and a half. “His name’s Viktor by the way. It’s somewhere in the rambling, and after a while he keeps calling him Vitya instead, but I’m going to spare you that, but the rest of this entry goes: _So we spent the night walking hand in hand, and we danced on the beach, and kissed on the beach, and_ – dot, dot, dot.”

“Dot, dot, dot?” Yurio nods and shuts the book, keeping his thumb in place. Otabek smirks, wiggling his brows slightly. “I think your dad might’ve gotten some.”

“Yes, thank you for your observant input, Beka,” Yurio bops the journal on Otabek’s head. “It’s obvious enough.”

“So this Viktor guy, he’s your biological dad then?” Kenjirou leans his elbow in Yurio’s head, exerting his weight on the shorter.

Surprisingly enough, Yurio seems far too invested in the journal to shove his friend off. “The plot thickens.”

“Do tell.” Otabek ushers the three of them over to a rocky clearing to sit. Yurio perches himself on the highest rock leaving the other two to sit beneath him.

“The next entry about Viktor is a few days later: _I can’t help but think that he’s the_ one _for me. He was so beautiful and charming and just swept me off my feet and…_ ”

“And?”

Yurio sighs. “ _It only makes sense that this was too good to be true. Viktor took me out dancing again, only to tell me that he has to return to Russia for work. Says that it can’t be avoided and he left this morning without so much as a good-bye._ ”

“Poor Yuuri.” Kenjirou frowns.

“There’s more though!” Yurio’s mood instantly brightens. “July 1st–” He simpers again, adding extra emphasis on the words, “ _Good god, Christophe has me absolutely smitten. His eyes are just so… green! I might just have to change my favorite color. He took me dancing and one thing lead to another and –_ ”

“Dot, dot, dot?” Otabek and Kenjirou chorus at the same time. They snort at each other, and Otabek breaks first. “Christophe, then?”

“If only it were that simple.” Yurio pulls another face, “He ends up leaving as well. Apparently he was engaged and dad was just a summer fling.”

“Ouch.” Kenjirou muses, earning an indignant “I know, right?” from Yurio.

“Then on July 8th – _Seung-gil turned up out of the blue and surprisingly enough we hit it off almost immediately. I like to think it was due to a few rounds of liquid courage, but underneath all that scowling is a beautiful soft smile._ ”

 Yurio continues the ramble about how dad and candidate number three go about their couple days of bliss then, " _But Seung-gil said he couldn’t stay, nor does he know if he could ever come back with his work and all._ ” He finishes off the entry with a sigh, shutting the journal in his hands.

“Man, poor Yuuri for real,” Kenjirou lifts himself off the rock he was perched on and helps Yurio down with a hand. “So what about these guys then?”

“They’re all potentially my biological dad.”

 Otabek frowns, getting off the ground as well. The three start walking back in the direction of the villa. “Are you going to look for them or something?” Yurio slips the journal back into his waistband and links his arms around his friends.

“Well, that’s the thing,” he sheepishly looks between each of them. “I’ve already, um, found them.”

“No kidding?” Kenjirou stops to gasp and Yurio nods. “What are are you going to do about that?”

“More like what I’ve _done_ about that,” Yurio sheepishly laughs, barely audible with a small hope that maybe his friends didn’t quite catch it. Unfortunately they did.

“What?” They scream at him. “Yuri, what did you _do_?”

He grimaces at their volume. He already accepted the cons of telling them but he had to tell someone he could trust. Resigning with a sigh, he lets go of their arms.

“I invited them! For the festival because it’s just a week and–”

Otabek gapes, dropping his weight on Kenjirou. “Wait, _them_? As in what I think it is?”

“All three, yes.” Yurio keeps his gaze off to the side. The three are silent for a while as Kenjirou and Otabek let the situation sink in. “I mean, there’s three of them and how am I just supposed to choose?”

“Does Yuuri know?” Kenjirou asks.

Yurio furiously shakes his head. “No! And he abso-fucking-lutely cannot know!” He waves his hands at them. “Please, I’m begging you not to tell a single goddamn _soul_.”

Otabek groans. “Yurio, I don’t know if we can–”

“Please?” Yurio does that puppy dog pout thing that makes everyone absolutely weak. His friends stare at him for a second, clearly trying to fight back, and eventually surrender.

“Fine.” They chorus. Yurio squeals, actually squeals, because he’s not afraid of letting loose around his best friends, and wraps them both in tight hugs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The rest of the walk up ends up taking ten minutes longer after their slight detour and spent catching up on each other’s lives. In all technicality, Yurio did grow up alongside Beka and Kenjirou but neither actually lived anywhere near Greece. Their friendship began when Otabek vacationed with his family one year, back when maybe Yurio was just eight, and they grew so close that the visits eventually became tradition. Kenjirou began his visits a couple summers after but grew an equally great bond. Otabek came from a Kazakh-American family while Kenjirou came from Brighton, so none of them ever had schooling experience together. Everything in between visits had been Skype sessions and phone calls, even letters sometimes. Fortunately, Yurio had been homeschooled his whole life so time zones were never an issue for them.

It’s nice, Yurio thinks, to have someone he can trust so much besides his dad. As far as he’s concerned, the rest of his family is distant (albeit very much there when Yuuri occasionally writes to them). He does have a few friends on the island, and he’s fluent enough in Greek that getting around isn’t difficult. However, he has been known to be reclusive and temperamental. Dad says it’s just puberty, Yurio thinks it’s island mentality. Either way, having familiar faces is always a relief.

_Speaking of._

Yuuri comes running out of the villa looking out of breath but smiling brightly as ever. “Beka! Kenji-kun! Oh my gosh, you boys have gotten so big!” He cries, enveloping each of them into a tight hug.

“Hi, Yuuri!” They laugh back. “We missed you too,” Kenjirou squeaks out as Yuuri kisses both their cheeks excitedly. It’s like this every time they visit, and he practically sees him as his own children at this point. 

“You guys need to stop growing!” He exhales with a wide grin. “Oh, I bet you boys are tired. Yurochka will help me bring your bags in.”

Yurio rolls his eyes and whines. “Dad, they can do that themselves!”

“Nonsense!” Yuuri quips, “They are our guests and you spent enough time lazing around before they came.” And to that, Yurio complies with a vaguely threatening snarl and certainly does not roll over his friends’ toes with their carry-ons.

The summer goes as such every year since he was six, and now with thirteen years under his belt, everything feels so in place again. It’s tedious in the months before and after this, mostly filled with awkward working hours by funny businessmen taking spontaneous trips or backpacking college students. There’s no regularity to it – no pattern he can follow and it makes him somewhat uncomfortable. These summer months though, they’re always a blessing and a curse. Even with all the getaways on the other islands, it’s their busiest time of the year. It’s a pleasant system that works out just right – it keeps him occupied and his hands always have something to do, whether it’s helping dad around the villa or attending to his friends.

But there’s also this part of him that’s unsure he’s fine with this simplicity. Yurio still longs for adventure and excitement, something new to put his thoughts to. All of which landed him in this current circumstance of figuring out how to accommodate three men he’s never met once in his life then simultaneously hiding them from the one person it’d be nearly impossible to. Yuuri knows every nook and cranny of all seven buildings in the villa, it’s mind blowing. Although considering the fact that he’s the most hands-on person on the premises it doesn’t nearly surprise anyone.

Yurio will worry about that later.

Otabek and Kenjirou stay in their own little housing unit – one of the smaller, cheaper ones towards the front – so they’re nearby Yurio. It’s a quaint bungalow with faded blue paint that they’ve seen every summer they’ve been here together. The only real downside is the lack of view (and probably the barely functioning plumbing system), other than that it’s a home away from home. 

Kenjirou groans, stretching his arms above his head before plopping onto one of the twin beds. “Man, it’s so good to be back for Aphrodite’s party!” Otabek rolls his eyes at him and falls on the same bed. “Hey, you have your own!”

“The beds feel much smaller than I remember them being,” he snorts, pulling Yurio down onto the bed with them. The boy struggles, though weakly, and is sandwiched between the two.

“Not our fault you guys became giants!” He huffs while the palm of his hand finds Otabek’s jaw. It’s not uncommon for them to roughhouse, but last time they did that one of the beds collapsed and Yuuri was less than happy to deal with one less room. Yurio carefully extracts himself from where he’s squished and sits up to face them.

“But for real, how are we going to deal with Vincent, Christopher and Sung–whatever?” Kenjirou frowns, looking up at Yurio.

“Viktor, Christophe, and _Seung-gil_.” He decides to go the honest route, plastering on an innocent smile before saying, “No idea.” To which Otabek finds a pillow and throws it over his head. “For real, I have no idea what to do. I was going to hide them in the old goat house.”

“Why the storage building?” Otabek balks. “Also, do you even know if they know each other?”

“Nope.”

“Oh my god, Yurio.”

“Hear me out!” He crawls off the bed, kneeling so his face rests on the mattress. He peers up at his friends with his brows pinched tightly together, “I don’t even know when they’re arriving, or even if at all, but you guys are my dudes, right?” They nod. “So I’m counting on you to help me out. Please?”

“Stop putting us in a helpless situation. You know we’re weak for that stupid face you make,” Otabek grimaces at him, although there’s no bite in his words at all. “We already said we would, right Kenji?”

Kenjirou nods fervently and curls up into Otabek’s side. He pulls Yurio up as well, adding him to their sudden cuddle pile.

“Thank you guys so fucking much!” Yurio beams at them, and of course they’re weak for his childish expressions so they have to look away to quickly compose themselves.

“You really need to stop doing that. Even your dad’s weak for it.” Beka sighs and smushes his hand against Yurio’s face.

Yurio just laughs, “Exactly!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... the "slight crack" tag is for the characters being a little OOC but I love clingy Yurio who just won't admit it. He needs plenty of love.
> 
> i live on the hellsite: [y-katsukiis](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)


	3. Money, Money, Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, all the things I could do if I had a little money – it’s a rich man's world!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make this the fic I update regularly, so it should update every week with the exception of the next chapter. My other best friend is coming over tomorrow! Long story shot, basically I moved to another continent so that's why he's coming over. I also say other because one already visited me last summer and boy aM I EXCITED!!
> 
> Also!! I do have a tumblr so feel free to stop by and chat! http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/
> 
> Not beta'd.

Yuuri’s favorite mantra is: _I am a beacon of power, nothing can drag me down._ He probably heard it from a therapist years ago, and now he repeats it out of habit. It’s really not that hard to _say_ – the issue is more so _believing_ it. He’s had that issue for as long as he could remember but he’s been better at ignoring it over the past nineteen years.

Besides, he’s much stronger now than he’d ever been and it was all thanks to the best thing that ever happened in his life – Yuri. He found himself in the form of a little swaddle of life in his arms years ago, and he kept finding more as the boy did too.

What comes from that, though, is the never-ending pressure of parenthood. Yuuri wants everything to be comfortable for him and he still does. He was the only one that was going to provide after all, since those no good, _rotten little_ –

Anyways, his point is that he’s tight on money. He’d never admit that to even Yurio, but they can manage. They always have.

Even before Yurio (and it’s hard to imagine life before him) they managed. He and his two other roommates from college had their own ways of getting by just well. It involved doing something they all loved, and the best part was that Yuuri could do all this under a persona that no one else knew about. He _was_ a beacon of power and _no one_ could drag him down.

Or so he thought, but he doesn’t like to think about that these days. He’s far too preoccupied with the deteriorating villa as it is.

The bright side is that this time of year is the best for business because of a special feast held that brings tourists flocking in. Everyone gets a business boom, and they get a few nights to party as well. The Feast of Aphrodite was once a sanctimonious celebration that later evolved into young adults looking for a romantic getaway. There’s a legend about some hidden spring that supposed to bring you true love if you drink from it, but only the tourists really care for it. The celebration’s not exactly Yuuri’s cup of tea either, but it pays the bill well and the houses tend accommodate some of the more _refined_ couples.

Thinking about how he and his roommates first came here over two decades ago and his current lifestyle, it’s entirely laughable. Never in a million years would he have expected to open a villa of all things (though considering his only work experience is of an inn, it does make _some_ sense) on a Greek island, thousands of kilometers from home whilst raising a son. He couldn’t find proper in-class education for him, but homeschooling worked just well. It was a bonus because he could see Yurio everyday and be there for him, at the same time he was able to work and run around the villa doing what he needed to gain income. It also meant Yurio could learn how to hold the reigns, meaning an extra set of hands to work.

Once the boy got past his terrible twos, he considerably mellowed out and stayed attached to Yuuri’s hip as he grew older. He understands, though, that half (if not most) of his clinginess comes from a lack of social exposure. They’re both fluent in Greek so wandering around town is never an issue, but Yurio was always reluctant to play with the other children. At first Yuuri thought there might be some bullies but as time went on he could see Yurio was blatantly uncomfortable around the others. Yurio was uncomfortable with himself, and Yuuri knew all too well what that felt like. He let his son open up to him first, slowly prying about the subject matter to make him aware of his concerns.

And when Yurio did open up he never felt prouder of the boy. Now that boy is well on his way to becoming a man, and Yuuri wouldn’t have it any other way.

He thinks it’s because Phichit and Guang-hong, the divas that they are, had been so understanding with himself that he was exposed to a healthy environment. And because of their influence he was able to give his son just that – safe and accepting.

Yuuri smiles as he drives down in their old truck, wondering what his friends have been up to since the last time he saw them. Yurio was probably only fifteen back then and had been going through a hard identity crisis.

It takes no time at all to spot Phichit in his bright green ensemble: a cute pastel crop top and khaki shorts with a wide brimmed sunhat. The man beside him, Guang-hong, sports a tropical orange sundress that was perfect for summer. Accessorized to kill, as usual, and donning some Tom Ford sunglasses (which Yuuri only knew thanks to a two-hour long lecture about designer brands by both friends).

“Well look at what the tide washed in!” Yuuri smirks, taking in his friends’ appearances as he slams the truck door shut. He can hear them squeal from where he stands and pulls a rather unattractive snort from his lips.

And as if they were on stage again, like all those years ago, Phichit and Guang-hong drop their bags on the spot, standing back to back and holding an imaginary mic in their hands.

Phichit exaggerates clearing his throat before proclaiming, “For one night–”

“–and one night only–” Guang-hong finishes.

They exchange a dopey grin before exclaiming, “Yura and the Divas!” as the run towards each other with excited shrieking. Yuuri and Phichit burst into a full on sprint while their other friend runs meekly behind in his stilettos. Everyone else on the public dock barely bats an eyelash because they’ve dealt with enough of their antics in the past. Back in the day, they had thrown some intense parties – Yuuri being the only one that ever stayed sober since he swore off from drinking after having Yurio – and are well aware of their rambunctious energy.

Yuuri pulls away first, “It’s so good to see you guys after so long!” He groans, falling back into Phichit’s arms.

“Tell me about it! It feels like forever since we’ve been here!” Guang-hong peels off his sunglasses and nuzzles into Yuuri’s side.

“It’s only been four years,” Yuuri laughs and pulls away again.

Phichit gripes at him. “Four years too long.”

“Yeah. Which, where’d you get–” he lands a firm smack on Guang-hong’s butt, “–these?” The man yelps, glaring at his friends.

“His last beaux was a fitness trainer,” Phichit winks and coos. “Oh oh, did you see my book?”

“ _Social Media: A New Medium_?” Yuuri snorts and he nods back. “Of course I did! I have to say, I feel incredibly enlightened by your explanation of networking.”

“See! Yuuri appreciates my hard work and research!” Phichit hooks his arm around Guang-hong, who in turn rolls his eyes at him as they begin strolling down the port towards the rusty blue truck. Yuuri follows easily beside them, even as he’s balancing two suitcases and a hefty Vera Bradley duffel bag that is most definitely Guang-hong’s. They continue their conversation as though four years was a mere four days and for once, everything falls back into place.

The first year they broke their tradition, Yuuri had come back on his own out of habit. He did have a few other friends at the time who were also recent college grads and wanted to throw a party. Who was he to decline an offer from friends? And he always missed the serenity the island promised. Phichit and Guang-hong still made sure to keep in contact with him and generally kept him from imploding during social situations. Yet there was still that nagging bout of anxiety that never left that could only be dulled by the countless drinks he had one night and, well, let’s just say one thing led to another.

The second time it happened was those four years ago when his friends were going on their own business ventures. Things had really started taking off for them and Yuuri had his work cut out for him on the villa. In the end it worked out for the best because renovations were made and new things were added.

“–and can you believe that Isabella is still with that obnoxious Canadian?” Phichit babbles while scrolling through his instagram and holding onto his sunhat for dear life. He’s practically yelling into Yuuri’s ear but neither can be bothered because one, he’s always been like this, and two, it doesn’t help that the truck lost its roof years even before his ownership. All three of them sit sandwiched in the single row of seats the beater provides.

Yuuri decides to entertain his friend’s incessant gossip. He’s never been one for it, but they keep him in the loop. “You’re kidding? Last time I heard she and JJ were in huge fight! Didn’t it happen during a dinner at their eldest’s? And she had to kick them out before the neighbors complained.”

“Yeah, but apparently they’re renewing their vows this fall.” Guang-hong supplies. “It was disgustingly romantic. Oh, which reminds me they sent all of us an invite.”

Yuuri pales. “Oh, they better not be–”

“They want us to perform.” At that he groans and gently bumps his forehead against the steering wheel. “They want Yura and the Divas back.” The man smirks, looking to one very excited man and another who looks full of dread.

“We swore off that after graduating!”

“That’s not what you said when you promised our little Yurio that for his wedding we’d–”

“He was six! How could I say no to my little angel when he pulls that pouty-face of his?” Yuuri groans.

Phichit just snickers, “And it still works to this day.”

Yuuri glares at them. “Couple of role models you are for him, serial bride over here and internet enthusiast.”

Guang-hong scoffs with a teasing grin. “I prefer the term, _eligible bachelor_.”

“Whatever, Yuuri and I are the lone wolves of the group, right? No man can tie us down!” He playfully nudges the driver’s shoulder. “Together we are unstoppable!” Phichit howls.

The drive is relatively short and the route is the same one Yuuri sees at least twice a month. The dock’s provide the villa’s direct source of mainland imports that it needs to properly functions. He prefers to personally oversee the deliveries, lest he be busy to which he sends Yurio instead.

“I can’t believe you talked them into doing that,” Yuuri giggles, pulling up into the driveway as Phichit just about kicks Guang-hong out of the seat. “I mean, hasn’t Sara dealt with enough of Mickey’s antics over the last thirty years?”

“Well, Michele was adamant to stay on his _sorellina_ ’s good side, so I figured couples therapy would give a similar result. Except, y’know, Emil being there and all to keep him level-headed.” Phichit straightens his top before attempting to help Yuuri unload. The man just swats his hands away and briefly introduces him to one of the bellboys, a young man named Silas. Phichit whistles whilst Guang-hong clings onto his friend’s arm as they ogle the man carry all three bags away.

“Yuuri, you got good service here,” Guang-hong leans in to whisper yet keeps his eyes blatantly on the young man walking away.

“Silas goes to the university in Athens but works here when he visits his grandparents over the summer.” Yuuri informs them. “Anyways, as we were discussing, Emil shouldn’t have to deal with– oh, Yurochka!”

Yuuri immediately spots his son and his friends across the courtyard, snickering at a suspiciously familiar looking black book. He decides to ignore that for now as a huge grins breaks across Yurio’s face, discarding the book behind him, and runs over to greet them.

“Uncle Peach!” He exclaims breathlessly, jumping onto the Thai man and slinging his arms around his neck. “Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming this summer!”

“My goodness, baby boy, you’ve grown so much! Though I probably shouldn’t be calling you “baby” anymore, but ugh! You will always be my little tiger!” Phichit coos, practically squeezing the life out of Yurio. The boy wriggles slightly but makes no real efforts to free himself. “Also, why didn’t the little angel know his favorite uncle was coming?”

Yuuri gives a little smile and shrugs, “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You probably don’t recognize me.” Guang-hong laughs mildly, opening his arms out to Yurio.

“Never in a million years would I not recognize you, uncle Gee.” Yurio giggles as he pries himself out of Phichit’s arms.

Phichit frowns, “Not with all those damn new designer clothes.”

“Please, it’s his fault Yurochka’s fashion taste is so eccentric.” Yuuri snorts, ushering Yurio’s friends to come closer. “You remember Beka and Kenji-kun, right?” Both boys give a sheepish grin and Kenjiro even supplies a slightly awkward wave.

Phichit immediately drapes his arms around their shoulders. “Of course! They’re practically my own nephews at this point!” 

“Hi, Phichit!” Kenjirou smiles.

Phichit wags a finger at both of them and tuts, “Now, we had this discussion seven years ago. You have permission to call both me and Gee over there your uncles.”

“Actually, I can understand why they wouldn’t want to be related to you,” Guang-hong deadpans with Yurio still in his arms. The boy snickers when Phichit glares. “Ah, before I forget I found this adorable leather jacket in Thailand that I’ve been dying to give to you for a year now. Hopefully you haven’t grown too much since last we saw you.”

“I’m pretty sure I stopped growing when I was thirteen, uncle Gee,” Yurio laughs, leaving the embrace.

Yuuri smiles at them fondly before turning to his son’s friends, “I’m sure Yurio told you they were my back-up girls back in the day.”

“He might’ve mentioned that,” Kenjirou says, clearly trying to hold back laughter. Yuuri gives him a suspicious glare to which Otabek answers with a nudge to the boy’s ribs. “I mean, he did!”

Yuuri quirks a brow. “He tell you anything else?”

“No, sir!” Both shake their heads.

Yurio’s the one that eventually leads them out of the courtyard while reminiscing about the years before. He listens in on his dad and uncles catching up as well before he excuses himself and his friends to his room.

“He’s gotten so mature, hasn’t he?” Guang-hong says as Phichit throws himself onto one of the nicely made beds. Yuuri gives him a weak glare for ruining his hard work.

“Yes, and I’m happy to see him grow more comfortable with himself everyday.” He eventually smiles, turning back to face Guang-hong again. “Alright, so I told you guys we made renos since last time you were here, right?” Phichit supplies a muffled “yes” and Guang-hong nods.

“Well, we may have had to sacrifice a few things. Like efficient plumbing, so if the you flush the toilet and it doesn’t, y’know–” He gestures as though ushering something away “–the first time just, leave it, come back in a while, and try again.”

Phichit gives him an unamused look. “I knew your villa was deteriorating, but damn I didn’t know it was this bad.” Which it really is but Yuuri would never admit it. All three of them were running their own ships and Yuuri was the most adamant about refusing a co-captain. Although things were a little different now that one of his best friends is a best-selling author and the other basking in the fashion industry.

“Do you need help?” Guang-hong frowns, wrapping an arm around Yuuri. He’s slightly shorter than him so it makes it a little awkward but Yuuri accommodates by leaning into his touch. “You know I’d be more than happy to loan–”

“ _Loan?”_ Yuuri sputters, shifting slightly away from his friend. “God, no! I could never ask that of you!” This time Phichit frowns at him as well, pushing himself off the mattress to look at him.

“He was offering, Yuuri.”

“And I wouldn’t even ask you to pay back with interest. In fact, I’d be willing to just give you the money you need!” Guang-hong supplies as he walks over to sit on the same bed as Phichit.

The man on his stomach gives Yuuri a worried look, “Ditto. You can’t sacrifice plumbing for a party!”

“There’s way too much and I–” Yuuri starts, trying to argue against them, but he makes the mistake of looking in their direction. There’s genuine concern laced in their faces and it makes his gut sink. “It’s really not that bad, I’m just whining. Besides, I’m getting the waterworks looked at next week. Until then, the only major areas affected are my place and the two houses in this area.”

“But that’s still three houses too many.” Guang-hong argues.

“Better mine than the other ones too. Besides, I’ve already started repairing the system in the other house. Y’know, the one that’s not yours?” He tries to lighten the mood by teasing his friends. He’s pretty sure Guang-hong mutters something about never getting a break in Chinese.

“Thanks, let your little Divas suffer.” Phichit grumbles.

Yuuri walks over to the window – the A/C unit may or may not be a little off in this house – to let some air in. “My little Divas must learn what it’s like to live a life of imperfection and struggle like me–” He tries to open the window, only the second that his hand makes a slight movement against the shutter, the little door is immediately hooked of the hinge and falling two stories down. They may be in a bungalow but the entire villa itself is on higher ground. He hears a couple of screams and angry gasps, and as he peers down he definitely registers the scowling locals. He quickly mouths a sorry and retreats back into the room.

Phichit and Guang-hong are looking at him incredulously, obviously trying to bite back laughter.

He takes a deep breath in and shuts his eyes, “Not. A. Word.”

 

* * *

 

He shouldn’t be surprised when Phichit and Guang-hong decide to follow him around the island while running errands. Initially, he assumed they’d want to go to the beach or even the villa’s bar (which is so nicely maintained by a foreign exchange student from the U.S.) since the trip to Kalokairi isn’t exactly easy. First you’d need to fly to the mainland, get a ride down to the docks, and then take a ferry to the island port. On the bright side, they got to take Villa Donna’s private ferry so it must’ve been a comfortable ride.

Yuuri goes to retrieve the fallen shutter first and places it by their door in the courtyard. At his friends’ insistence, they somehow manage to meander to the local market in the square. He already planned on going anyways, but if he can get it done before tomorrow the easier preparations will be.

“Prep for what?” Guang-hong questions. Yuuri hadn’t realized he said it out loud as he squeaks.

“F-For the villa party.” He supplies, “We started hosting this big banquet for all the guests and employees two years ago.”

“Ah, man. We had to get busy when the exciting things happened,” Phichit whines. His arm is wrapped around Yuuri’s as they walk along the fish vendors. Both him and Guang-hong seem to be flagrantly avoiding getting anywhere near the stalls. In fact, the Chinese man had been complaining since Yuuri explained he had to inspect the seafood stock he was receiving. In his defense it’s not like they _had_ to tag along in the first place.

“I promise you, it’s nothing big.”

Phichit scoffs. “It’s got to be! I overheard some of the foreign staff talking about it. I didn’t know you took on so many foreign students, Yuuri!”

“I pay them well and they do their jobs. A lot of young people like to come here to get away anyways since it’s affordable.”

“God, you sound so old. _Young people_ ? Really?” Guang-hong rolls his eyes. “Are you getting _any_?” He abruptly asks. The question catches both Yuuri and Phichit off guard, yet the former seems utterly clueless about what’s being asked of him.

“Any what?” He genuinely asks, and both his friends give him a blank look before turning to each other in distaste.

“Honey,” Phichit exhales.

Yuuri frowns at them. “I’m serious, any wha– oh,” he drawls out the last word as his face flushes. “N-No! Why would you even ask that?”

“Been a while, is all.” Guang-hong shrugs, still pouting at him. And yes, twenty years is a long time but he’d been far too busy to care about… other things. He doesn’t care much for anything other than the relationship he has with his friends and family now anyways, and from previous experience he’d much rather keep it that way.

“I’m not actively seeking, and no, that is not an invitation,” He glares at Phichit because he had been the most notorious for trying to hook him up online. The man even made various social media accounts for him just to get him “out there” much to his disapproval. He still uses them for work purposes though, and networking across other hotel sites is much easier nowadays. “What happened to being the _lone wolves_ anyways?”

“You’re not even a _lone wolf_ to begin with; you have Yuri.” Guang-hong adds.

“Do you even get the concept of a _lone wolf_ , Gee?” Phichit questions.

“Well, last time I checked you very much enjoy both our company,” He smirks at Phichit.

“He’s got a point man,” Yuuri adds, clasping a shoulder around Phichit. “But man, if I could find anyone who has bank I would drop to my knees immediately.”

Guang-hong and Phichit gasp incredulously. “I knew you still had it in you!” the Thai man giggles, draping himself all over Yuuri.

This kind of company he could definitely live with.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm having an issue with writing fics I'm usually good at giving a heads up. Sometimes I forget that besides wanting to give something to you guys that you'll enjoy this is also completely self-indulgent. These chapters will be pretty sporadic in length, but until next time!
> 
> <3 Tin
> 
> i live on the hellsite: [y-katsukiis](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)


	4. Waterloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Couldn’t escape if I wanted to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my best friend's being an ass so here's a special update! (not really he's being difficult in a lovable way i guess lmao)

The first odd thing Seung-gil notices is that his assistant show up at his doorstep on a day he definitely has off (which he would know because he was his own manager).

He scowls at her, not with pure disdain, but because everyone he works with knows he does not like being disturbed on days off. The girls swallows, glancing down to an envelope in her hands and his gaze follows along.

“If this is about that lady’s cat photoshoot, I urge you to inform her that persistence is not the key.” he quips monotonously.

The girl swallows again before saying, “This letter was actually personally addressed to you, Mr. Lee. It looked important so I opted to personally deliver it to you.”

And how can he be mad when his employees were just trying to make things more convenient for him? She was young after all, just a high school student working part-time as a receptionist at his studio. His grimace fades but his expression remains stoic.

“Thank you, Ji-Woo,” he says, retrieving the envelope from her hands. She shifts uncomfortably on her feet at the sudden lightness to his tone. “You may leave now.”

Ji-Woo squeaks, nods, and scampers off – all in that order.

He doesn’t look at the envelope in his hand until he crosses the threshold of his apartment and deadbolts the door shut.

When he turns it in his hand to find the return address, he chokes on his own spit and nearly trips over his dog. There’s never a time he will admit to being graceless or uncomposed, but this was one of those times when he could admit he had been genuinely shocked.

“Y-Yuuri?”

 

* * *

 

“Giacometti speaking.” Christophe grunts, tapping the bluetooth earpiece with a hand. Car horns blare, people are chattering aimlessly around him, but none of that phase him. He was no stranger to the city that never sleeps.

“ _Eh? What’s with that tone?_ ” A voice drawls into his ear.

Christophe just laughs, “Isn’t it a little too early to be drinking, Minako?”

 _“Tch.”_ The voice on the other end scoffs, _“Two-thirty is the ideal time when you’re trying to organize seven meetings and a gala. I mean, the hell’s with that anyways?”_

“You know as well as I do that we need to please our sponsors, _cherie_ ,” he rolls his eyes as he tries to hail a cab. “Besides, we’ve been trying to schmooze the Leroys for months now. This would be the perfect opportunity to get them in our hands.”

_“Whatever. I deserve a raise.”_

“No raise, but an early bonus, yes?” Christophe laughs heartily as he steps into a yellow cab. His hand covers the receiver as he announces his location the driver then turns back to his conversation. 

 _“I knew I liked you for a reason.”_ Minako snorts. _“Oh, by the way you got mail.”_

Christophe frowns, “Well, just leave it on my desk. I have to deal with clients before–”

_“It’s just one letter, actually. Addressed from Greece.”_

He abruptly stops, his shoulders going rigid. “Where? Like where in Greece?”

On the other end of the line, Minako rustles through stacks of papers before answering, _“Kalokairi.”_

Christophe’s mouth goes dry.

_“Funny, actually. I have a godson that lives somewhere in Greece. Haven’t heard from that stupid brat in a while. I’m really due to visit but I never have time. And he actually has–”_

“I’ll be there ASAP. Just leave it on my desk.” he says before bidding her goodbye then hanging up.

There’s no way, right? It could just be a coincidence, but he’s always been one for adventure. It doesn’t hurt to be hopeful, right? He hasn’t heard from he–him since…

Christophe shoves the thought to the back of his mind and smirks.

“Excuse me sir,” he leans forward toward the driver, “Change of plans. And I’m going to need you to floor it.”

 

* * *

 

Viktor’s fingers brush the creases of the paper in his hands as he swivels around in his chair. It’s fine parchment from an expertly sealed ivory envelope, nothing he wasn’t used to receiving, per se.

But what strikes him is the logo stamped in the corner of both the letter and envelope.

 _The Villa Donna  
__Kalokairi, Greece_  

Now that’s a place he hasn’t thought about in years.

Or maybe just a few nights ago when that sinking feeling of guilt wracked his nerves as he wasted himself at another bar until three a.m.

Regardless, it’s odd receiving something out of the blue from a place that only existed in the fantasies of his early adulthood. However he doesn’t really recognize the name of the place. Somewhere in the back of his mind he feels like it’s an important clue as to _why_ he got the invite in the first place.

Oh, speaking of it, the invitation itself is something to behold as well.

He remembers taking cramped ferries for a few consecutive summers to the island; back when he was still young and his friends were party fiends. Those were some of the best years of his life. In fact, he likes to attribute those years to being alive again.

And what he’d do to feel that way again.

To feel life.

To feel love.

His mind wanders to a distant memory, one that he revisits fondly yet simultaneously makes his gut drop a thousand feet.

The last fifteen or so years of his life had been nothing but hollowing himself out for a career he no longer felt passionate about. When was the last time he felt the thrill of adventure? He won’t get his hopes up, but he can’t help but smile at the idea.

 _“Moya zvezda…”_ Viktor mutters under his breath, holding the letter close to his heart.

And he makes a decision that, for once, he doesn’t regret making since the day he left behind his life and love.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if yall wanted to know he's just drawing me writing porn (which i am incapable of) while wearing a USA shirt (which i am not nor do i even own one).  
>  ~~jk now he's trying to draw porn in my sketchbook. alright.~~
> 
> also this is one of my favorite songs so this chapter's for you, markus.
> 
> i live on the hellsite: [y-katsukiis](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)


	5. Mamma Mia!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My, my, how could I resist ya?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arguably my favorite song in the entire musical (next to the title of this fic, of course).
> 
> Enjoy ;)
> 
> Not beta'd.

At some point after reuniting with his uncles, Otabek and Kenjirou decide that the excitement is too much for their jetlagged state and Yurio sympathetically drops them off in their bungalow. It’s not unusual for them to fall victim to time zone changes, but he’s already scheming their wake-up call before dinner.

But he ultimately decides against it because he’s dragged them into enough of a mess as it is. This whole set-up he’s devised was definitely a spur of the moment deal and failed to consider various factors in how it’s played. For one thing, he doesn’t even know the first thing about any of the men he’s randomly invited for the festival. Well, he at least knows their names and professions (all three have made quite the name for themselves), but he doesn’t even fully understand their history with Yuuri.

The mentions of them in his journals were very brief – often hastily scribbled as though he were trying to juice out every detail he could at the time – and offered mixed signals about how he felt after their appearances. He’d gathered enough information to know that Yuuri was practically over them and entirely set on raising Yurio himself. (He thinks back at that entry fondly and smiles as he sifts through the randomly filled crates in the old goat house. His dad had been complaining about a missing centerpiece and Yurio was positive he saw it in here somewhere.)

When his dad was his old self, he was much more uncomfortable and his writings frequently expressed his self-deprecation and anxiety. (It made his heart hurt but he remembers feeling the same way on most days.) Black Moleskine journal number four was a pivotal point in Yuuri’s life. It began like its predecessors, messy but at the same time organized, as though there were so many thoughts running through his mind that he had to say but at the same time could not free from his lips. The tone would shift a few times when dad would talk about his childhood dog named Vicchan or whenever he and his uncles would go out, but there was something different about journal number four. For the first time in about three hundred pages, Yuuri was finding happiness on his own. He was urged to venture out into the world on his own and he found something worth holding onto, if even just for the moment. Those entries seemed so full of life and excitement, Yurio couldn’t help but feel those feelings his dad wrote about.

And then about two-thirds of the way through, the tone shifts again to something happier despite the slightly somber messages in the beginning of that arc. Yuuri had found happiness and purpose even if it meant throwing his old life away.

Yurio also wanted to find happiness and purpose. He wanted to fill in the hole he’s felt for so long, ever since he was able to put the birds and the bees together. Every other kid had two parents, so why couldn’t he? And that thought kept growing on him as time went on. Eventually it manifested into the mess he’s found himself in, and while he’s terrified of what could be, he’s equally ecstatic to know that one of these days he will find out who his biological father is.

And maybe he will feel whole with that knowledge too.

Yurio huffs, realizing that he might’ve been remembering where the centerpiece was from the last time he saw it (which was about a year) and is about to give up entirely. He did find some useful things for him to help Yuuri patch up the yard with so he stuffs them all into a couple of crates before cleaning up the rest of his mess.

He takes no more than two steps out with the two crates when he notices the odd group of tourists that somehow managed to find their way around the backside of the villa. He knows he should be wary, probably call his dad or direct the strangers to the lobby, but something draws him in. There’s something familiar about the silver hair on one of them. None of them seem to have noticed him walking out of the storehouse.

“May I help you?” He frowns, dropping the crates onto the ledge by the steps. He cocks his hip and rests a hand on it. Two of them startle while the one with black hair slowly turns to face him. Yurio scrutinizes the three as they face him. They really look oddly familiar but he can’t put his finger on why.

The silver-haired one speaks first. “Yes, actually,” and the first thing Yurio notices is that this man has a Russian accent. “We’re looking for the Villa Donna?”

Yurio swallows, “Well, it would just be around the building but–”

“Were you expecting us?” The black-haired man speaks. Yurio can’t really pinpoint his accent. It’s definitely not American like the one his dad and uncles have adopted with all their years of residency, but the way the consonants roll off his tongue is very similar to how both him and his dad are after speaking bouts of Japanese. “I ask because we were invited to stay.”

“I, um–” Yurio’s throat goes dry as his gaze travels between the three men.

Finally, the blond one says something while lowering his sunglasses ever so slightly. The green of his eyes immediately strike Yurio as he says, “Hang on, you look very familiar. I’d recognize that face anywhere, and especially those eyes!”

And it finally hits him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be, uh, related to a Yuuri Katsuki, would you?” He adds and Yurio pinpoints a strange cross between a French and German accent. _French and German, which could mean–_

“Y-Yes! Yes, I am!” He quickly sputters out.

The blond man smiles at him, this time with some sort of fondness, “You have the eyes of a fighter. Someone with a very determined will.”

“Th-Thanks,” Yurio flushes. “He’s, um, Yuuri Katsuki is my dad.”

“Your dad?” The Russian one asks disbelievingly. For a moment, Yurio feels defensive and is ready to spit profanities at them when he speaks again, “Sh– He really did it, wow.” The man’s voice is laced with admiration and something along the lines of relief.

Yurio gives them a curious glance. He has a hunch, but he needs confirmation for the anxiety to fade. “I’m sorry, and you would be?”

“Ah, where are my manners,” the Russian gasps. He releases his grasp on his luggage and gracefully flicks his sunglasses off, revealing a pair of intense clear-blue eyes. “I’m Viktor Nikiforov. We’re old friends of his?”

“Seung-gil Lee.” The dark-haired man supplies, lifting his own sunglasses to rest on the crown of his head. And Yurio knows that without a doubt this man is Korean.

“Giacometti,” the blond on smirks, pushing up the frames on his nose. “Christophe Giacometti.”

Yurio swallows hard, looking between the three and trying to comprehend the depth of his situation.

“Well, you were expecting us, right?” Viktor laughs lightly.

“Y-Yeah,” he exhales and nods dumbly. He doesn’t say anything for a while, not trusting himself to speak coherently. The men look slightly distraught at his reaction. “I mean, yes! Of course, yes I was– am expecting you!”

“Oh, you’re definitely Yuuri’s, alright,” Christophe laughs, “Easily flustered, just like him.” Viktor chuckles at that while Seung-gil offers a small smile. It looks oddly out of place as an unreadable expression shines through his eyes. There’s something distant in his black eyes, a little sad but there is fondness as well.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we quite got your name.” Viktor says apologetically. He seems genuinely distraught by the lack of knowledge.

“I go by Yurio, but my name is Yuri Katsuki,” he replies honestly, albeit a little sheepishly because he knows how confusing their names can be.

The confused expression the men make do not phase him one bit. “You share the same name?” Viktor quirks a brow at him.

“The pronunciation is actually different,” Yurio crosses his arms. _Honestly, people never listen well enough to notice that._ “But that’s why I go by Yurio, and it’s a Japanese nickname my aunt gave me years ago,” he says, and it’s only half true. “I was actually named after a woman named Yulia.”

Viktor hums, “Oh, wow! I had a grand aunt named Yulia as well. She was estranged though, and actually lived in Tirana until she died.”

“Well, this Yulia, she took care of me when I was a baby while dad was working.” Yurio adds. Back when Yuuri still didn’t have a stable job, she was the next best thing to family. And it’s not like his Japanese relatives could afford to come here, let alone his busy uncles who were doing their own business trips.

“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’d very much like to set this baggage down somewhere before I melt from this disgusting heat,” Seung-gil quips, nodding his head toward the heap of bags he had on him. There was one big suitcase, but what caught Yurio’s attention were the smaller bags he had strapped on him. As far as he was concerned, with the way he was dressed with cargo shorts and a crusher hat hanging behind his neck, this man was practically ready for a safari.

“No, it’s my bad really! Shouldn’t have kept you guys out here,” he flushes, waving his hands at them. The men all give a sigh of relief before turning back onto the path, and Yurio very nearly lets them until he realizes that one, his dad runs the villa, and two, he does not know that these men from his past are here for a “reunion.” He swears under his breath before running up to them.

“Ah, kuso, actually wait!” He exclaims, quickly lowering his voice in case his dad might be nearby. That man was constantly trying to be everywhere at once trying to fix everything. “Come this way,” he ushers the men into the storehouse, ignoring the looks of uncertainty they were throwing at him.

It’s not the most ideal place to hide strangers, but it’s better than nothing and as long as they stay on the second floor Yuuri shouldn’t notice a thing. Towards the side of the storehouse is a decaying wood ladder that somehow seems to still be standing. Viktor and Christophe eye it warily while Seung-gil ignores its dilapidated state and follows Yurio up the rungs. It takes a few extra trips to get all of the Korean man’s bags up, but eventually he gets them all situated upstairs.

“Er, I’m enjoying this adventure and all, however might I be shown my room now? I’d quite like to freshen up a bit before the big, uh, reunion.” The corner of Christophe’s mouth falls slightly as he analyzes their living space.

“This is your room,” Seung-gil pointedly states as he begins unloading various lenses from the bag slung around his shoulders. “Get comfy. Looks like we’re sharing.”

Yurio gapes at how blunt this man is and wonders how the hell his dad got along with him. There were times when Yurio got a little insensitive, but he liked to think that he was more empathetic than that.

Christophe inhales sharply before turning to the boy. Viktor also seems taken by the sudden realization that they’re supposed to be living in a storehouse in the middle of summer but there are more important questions to be answered.

“Wait, what–”

Yurio squeezes his eyes shut as he quickly exhales, “I actually sent the letters, not management.” He could’ve just said his dad, but management sounded more professional and they were essentially the same thing anyway. It’s not like he explicitly addressed the sender as “Yuuri Katsuki” versus “The Villa Donna” either. But they didn’t need to know that.

Seung-gil seems unphased by it, somehow unsurprisingly enough, while Christophe and Viktor share an exasperated groan.

“Yura–”

“Not Yura. Yurio.” he pouts slightly. He’s not comfortable with terms of endearment unless he knew the person well. That and he still doesn’t know what to make of these three men, whether one of them is his biological dad or not.

“Sorry, it’s a habit I formed from teaching kids.” Viktor explains offhandedly, and it makes Yurio question what exactly this man does for a living. “Look, as exciting as this all is this is not the most ideal situation for us, for me to be in–”

“I know, I know, but I’ve been reading dad’s journals and hearing about all the fun he used to have and–”

“You’d know that the last time your dad saw me he stepped on my Prada shoes and said that he never wanted to see me again.” Christophe sighs, running a hand through his hair. Yes, he knew that and is still taken aback that his dad would even do that. However, he did seem a little drunk based on his penmanship. “As sweet as this is, Yurio, I can guarantee that your father will not be comfortable with three men that are barely familiar with each other living on top of his storehouse.” He adds. Yurio can’t help the whine that escapes him.

“None of us were on good terms with Yuuri when we separated.” Seung-gil huffs as he pushes himself off the ground. “We were reckless, and it was inevitable.”

“But he was so happy!” Yurio tries to argue with them. “Look, I have written proof of that and I just want to–” Before he can continue, his spiel is abruptly cut off by the sound of the front door opening and crates being tossed around. He’s pretty sure he heard a few frustrated complaints directed at himself for leaving the supply crates where anyone could take them.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Viktor gasps, walking towards the trap door they entered through. It seemed as though all three men had the same idea as they slowly encroached the door. There’s an inexplicable energy shift in the room that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, they’re more excited to see his dad than they verbally let on. Yurio has to step in to prevent them from getting any further.

“No! You cannot be seen, cannot be heard, and no one can know you’re here. You got that?” He hisses, extending his arms so that no one can walk past to the door on the floor. All three nod; Viktor even gives him a sly smirk.

“You’re a sneaky little minx just like him, too.” And it makes Christophe snort while Seung-gil fondly rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve learned from the best,” Yurio adds to their teasing. “But promise me you will uphold that and come to the festival. _Because_ I invited you. Okay?” He stage whispers.

Seung-gil’s expression immediately softens as he places a hand on Yurio’s head. “Alright, we’ll play along.” He smiles at the boy, and it slowly grows into a knowing smirk.

“Oh, and make sure you have a back-up excuse just by the off chance that he does find you guys and ask.”

Yurio thanks them about fifty times before calculating that his best escape route is through the window facing the other side of the building. He’s careful to keep his steps light because he can hear his dad humming a familiar song directly below them. Christophe helps him climb out of the opening, voicing his concerns but Yurio merely brushes them off. He’d been notorious for sneaking around the villa as a child. Before he leaves, he points to one of the fallen shutters at the foot of the window. He instructs them to use it cover the window, effectively blocking out the view of the courtyard.

Once the boy is out of immediate view, Christophe slots the piece of wood into the frame and walks back to his companions.

All three men shared the same sentiment – this was going to be a long few days.

 

* * *

 

“God, Yurio,” Yuuri groans at the sight of crates blocking the storehouse. He knows the boy left earlier to help look for something (he can’t even remember anymore), though it seems like he did find other useful things.

Yuuri picks up a drill from one of the crates, knocking it a few times to get the battery going, and experimentally pulls the trigger. _Still good_ , he thinks as he chucks the tool back into the crate. He really should get to cleaning out the storage after the festival, especially since he has every intention of sending Yurio off to college. It’s not like he can rely on his son to help keep track of the inventory all time–

A loud thudding from above interrupts Yuuri’s train of thought and cuts off his humming. He jerks, nearly toppling a stack of boxes he had been sifting through.

“The hell?” He hisses, suddenly very aware of his surroundings. For all he knew, it could just be Yurio moving things around upstairs. There are very few items upstairs but his son’s likely to turn up in unexpected places from past experiences. “Yurio?” He calls out. The sounds seem to have ceased and there’s an uneasy energy in the air. There’s no way Yurio would be hiding from him… right?

“Yurochka?” He tries again as he slowly walks over to the ladder. “Are you up there? Do you need help?” No response yet again.

A thousand scenarios fly through his mind at once. What if it was his baby and he collapsed and that’s what the sound was? Or worse, what if someone decided to kidnap him and decided that this was the best hideout and is holding him hostage? Oh gods, what if there was someone else up there just waiting to prey on him instead?

Swallowing thickly, Yuuri musters up whatever courage he has to scale the rotting ladder. He thinks about getting it replaced for a brief moment as it creaks under his foot stepping onto the first rung, but he can worry about that later. He climbs cautiously, keeping his steps quiet as possible despite the incessant whining the old wood makes. It’s slow, so agonizingly slow, but he has to know.

_What in the world is up there?_

He stops as his fingers graze against the trap door, sucking a breath in. Now or never, he thinks to himself. Ever so carefully, he pushes against the wood trying his best not to make sound.

And what he spots is, uh–

Well…

Yuuri gasps, immediately ducking his head. It couldn’t have been could it? _Those bags, after all this time he–_

At this point he throws all caution into the wind and pries the door once more. His eyes drift to the corner where he thought he had seen– yep, there it is. On top of a ruddy air mattress sat heaps of camera equipment and a dusty grey camera bag that had once been jet black two decades ago. And to think he still had it.

 _Seung-gil Lee_ , his mind supplies.

His eyes drift to the other side, abruptly stopping as he catches a pair of very expensive looking oxfords. Only one man would ever wear shoes like that to a place like this. His eyes shift upward a little more and sure enough there are those beautiful green eyes.

_Christophe Giacometti._

Meaning that, by some horrible twist of fate, if the two of them are here…

He continues shifting his gaze.

 _Viktor Nikiforov_ , in all his Russian glory – still as perfect as ever with his porcelain complexion and shimmering, albeit much shorter silver hair. _Vitya_ , Yuuri’s throat goes dry.

And he knows he should be mad. There are so many red flags going on at once and surely enough his anxiety will come to bite him in the ass.

But oh, this is _great_.

The eye candy from his youth, all in one place, conveniently for him to see. Phichit and Guang-hong were right. When _was_ the last time he had a little fun? A giddy feeling takes over with a surge of confidence. He silently replaces the door and deftly climbs down the ladder. He has to make sure that none of this is a dream (or maybe he really wishes it was, but right now it doesn’t matter when they’re still just as hot as he remembers them being).

He slaps his cheeks twice and upon feeling the stinging pain there’s no way this is a dream.

There has to be a better way to get a look at them.

Yuuri concocts a two-second plan and quietly out the doors in less than that.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait so they’re here–”

“Yes and we need to get dad away from the storehouse!” Yurio hisses, shoving Kenjirou into Otabek’s back and out of their little bungalow. “God, fuck– out! Now! We need to get my dad out of there!”

Kenjirou yelps, “Ow! Okay, okay!”

Yurio pulls both his friends by their wrists, jogging all the way back up the stone path to the store house. He stops them just shy of turning the corner, where they will inevitably face a distressed Yuuri.

“Game plan,” he yanks them down to huddle around him, “You two take dad. I’ll deal with the boy toys up there.”

“Boy toys?” Otabek scoffs.

Yurio elbows his side, “Don’t push it. Okay, let’s do this.”

Cautiously, they round the corner of the building they had been hiding behind…

...only to find his dad scaling the side of the storehouse with his bare hands.

The building isn’t that high, and there’s plenty of leverage coming from the window ledges and crooked stones used to build it. Somehow Yurio always fails to consider that:

1) he gets his stubbornness from his dad (which is a lot of stubbornness for one person) and

2) his dad had been a dancer. His dad was ripped back then, and while he hadn’t been one in many a year, he was still physically fit from running the villa almost solely on manpower.

“Yura, I knew Yuuri was crazy, but this is something else,” Otabek says in complete awe, all three of them still gaping at the figure climbing the wall. Yuuri eventually makes it to the top and stumbles gracefully over the edge of the roof.

Of course there had to be another trap door on the roof.

 

* * *

 

In all honestly, he was surprised he managed to scale the wall. It wasn’t difficult per se, he’d just been really out of practice without working out for years and all. His landing wasn’t as graceful as he’d like but it’d do. He’s up there and alive, isn’t he?

And he hasn’t felt this alive in years.

Of course he hasn’t because only they would bring out such recklessness in him. It was exhilarating, even at forty, to be able to do such things.

He creeps around the roof, careful to keep his steps light, and makes his way to the trap door in the center. The roof was technically part of the storage but Yuuri preferred not to use it since weather was a factor. He didn’t want to deal with tarps or moldy furniture so the door was rarely ever used.

He gets to his knees as he nears the little hatch and awkwardly crawls the short distance left between him and… he’s not exactly sure what he’ll find but he has to see them again. To know that they were real and not some wild dream he’d been sucked into (as though Yuri wasn’t proof enough).

No, this was tangible evidence that his youth was real and Yurio had come from him. I never told him who is dad was, Yuuri reminds himself as he stares at the door. Naturally, there were times Yurio asked him and he gave as vague an answer as he could. The boy never seemed phased by it, but perhaps this could become further proof.

Besides, he was with three men within a month, how could he know?

Pushing all thoughts aside, his hand travels to the latch on the side. He hesitates for a second, his anxiety finally making an appearance after being on an excitement high. But what could he lose? He wasn’t about to let all this energy go to waste.

So ever so carefully, Yuuri unlocks the latch and gently pries the door open.

 _Oh yes, there they are_. Yuuri grins, giddily biting his lip as he peers over slightly exposed the edge. He can hear Viktor and Christophe talking, but of course Seung-gil is ignoring them completely for his camera equipment. _What’s he doing here anyways? And the old storehouse of all places? Did someone smuggle them in?_

He thinks he hears someone mention his name and tries to lean his ear towards the opening he created. He leans farther and farther–

–until his arm flails, swinging the door wide open, and falls right onto a ruddy air mattress.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S GOOD BOI??
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> 
> ~~i had to edit this on my phone bc we're on a road trio but i really wanted/needed to update and i hope i never have to do that ever again~~
> 
> i live on the hellsite: [y-katsukiis](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)


	6. Dancing Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let me hear you sing once more, like you did before; sing a new song Chiquitita. // You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops here's a late chapter ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> So we've reached the point in my doc that I no longer have pre-written chapters. I'll do my best to regularly update this fic, but here's my fav chapter written up to date! Obviously it's a little awkward to write singing parts out so I improvised a little. This won't be the only singing you'll see in this fic. Yuuri and his Divas were in a cover band after all ;)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~hope yall like the scene reference video bc it's one of my fav scenes in the movie/musical~~
> 
>  
> 
> Not beta'd.

For a moment, nothing happens.

They all stare at each other in disbelief that the whole situation was actually happening. But if the bruising sensation on Yuuri’s ass is anything to go by, none of this was a dream.

“You always knew how to make an entrance.” Christophe finally laughs, breaking the tension in the air. Viktor is snickering as well while Seung-gil smirks. They’re all looming over him, keeping their distance but studying his appearance now.

Twenty years ago, back when they first met, Yuuri had been very different.

He was much curvier, using his assets for his stage persona at the time, with long jet-black hair and dolled-up eyes. Their little dance group was known for being a set of beauties and Yuuri – or Yura, as his persona was called – was the center of attention.

Drastically different from how he is now – disheveled black hair chopped much shorter, less curvy in some areas while others remained stubborn. Much more muscular for other reasons than dancing like hauling loads around and doing his own repair work.

Sprawled out on the bed clumsily, an overall strap sliding down and his shirt fraying at the collar from years of use, is so much different than any of the three men remember him being.

Yuuri swallows hard and stares at the three men. “I, uh–”

“Hi, Yura,” Viktor smiles fondly as he crouches down to face him. “Beautiful as ever, I see!”

Yuuri sputters, shying back some. “V-Vit– I mean, Viktor!”

“And just as clumsy, falling from the roof of all things,” Seung-gil sighs, shaking his head with a small grin as well.

“Seung-gil!” Yuuri gasps, leaning forward as though to get a better look at the Korean man.

“You might be able to see better if these were on your face,” Christophe exhales and fixes the glasses that ended up askew from his fall. The second his vision fully returns, Yuuri flinches back eyeing all three men warily.

“Wha–” his eyebrows furrow, “What are you doing here?”

“Spontaneous vacation.” Christophe says with a shrug. It’s not a lie but it’s not the full truth either. He definitely owes the Leroys a one-on-one dinner after this stunt. Yuuri doesn’t buy it one bit because with the global reputation his company wracked up, there’s no way he didn’t hear about him on the news.

“New photography book on island cultures.” Seung-gil explains, gesturing to his camera bags. Yuuri would believe him if it hadn’t been for the fact that he knew this man specialized in animal photography – specifically canines – and ran his own successful studio back home.

“I just wanted to see the island again,” Viktor smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead he looks at Yuuri, who’s fidgeting with the undone strap of his overalls. “You knew how much this place meant to me.”

That one Yuuri does somewhat buy. And all of a sudden the anxiety that had been pushed away because of adrenaline came fighting back and lodged itself in his throat. He feels a weight punch through his chest and tears are forming behind his eyes.

“N-No! You guys can’t be here. Let alone in _my_ goat house!” He pushes himself up, falling once to his embarrassment, but kicks the mattress as he finds his footing. “I mean, what hell were you guys even thinking? Do you guys even _know_ each other?”

The three men look away sheepishly. _Of course they’d do something like this._

“Oh my god, you don’t even– Look, I want you all out. Away from this island! You know what, I’ll even get you guys a boat and–”

“I have a boat, actually.” Seung-gil interjects. Viktor and Christophe seem dumbfounded by the sudden declaration.

“Since when?” Christophe gawks.

“I– You– What?” Yuuri stammers, facing Seung-gil. “Okay… okay! Good! So anchors away!”

“Alright,” Seung-gil responds plainly and begins packing his camera equipment as though he knew this was going to happen.

“Like, _away_ away,” Yuuri shoves past the three men toward the trap door leading to the bottom floor. “And never come back, sound good? Great–” he squeezes through the opening, only to be stopped by a hand before he fully turns away.

“Yuuri.”

When he turns around, he sees Viktor and Christophe looking at him with a playful expression (and god, why won’t the whole building just collapse already?) with Seung-gil glancing from where he’s packing equipment.

“It’s good to see you again!” They all smirk as they sing-song the words to him.

At that, Yuuri squeaks and shuts the door as calmly as he can manage. When he reaches the bottom rung of the ladder he makes a run for it.

* * *

 

Yurio spots his dad running away with a distraught expression and tears in his eyes from where they hide behind one of the maintenance shacks.

“Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri runs faster than he can ever remember doing since Yurio played tag with his friends ages ago. His thighs burn and his lungs feel constricted; in all honesty he can’t tell if it’s because his body is weary or because his anxiety is eating him whole.

_God, how long has it been? Nineteen years and eight months? And they’re all just as charming and brash and idiotic and insane and–_

“Y-Yuuri, what’s wrong?” A voice that sounds like Guang-hong’s calls out.

Yuuri ignores it and stumbles into the courtyard with his arms covering his face. He’s pretty sure that some of the guests and the bartender are staring at him but he can’t bring himself to care. He dives into the bathroom just on the other side of the bar and locks himself in a stall.

“Yuuri!”

The voices follow him into the bathroom. Phichit and Guang-hong mutter worriedly between each other but Yuuri hopes that his reluctance to budge will get them to leave him alone.

Naturally, it doesn’t.

He hears someone clear their throat, _“_ Ch _-Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong?”_ Phichit’s voice sings sweetly. Yuuri has to bite back a groan because he can’t _believe_ they’re going this now.

 _“I have never seen such sorrow!”_ Guang-hong joins in with his full, velvety voice.

There’s more whispering and thudding noises then, _“In your eyes, I see no hope for tomorrow.”_

“God, you guys are so irritating!” Yuuri finally groans out.

Guang-hong peeks through the top of the stall door, starling a squeak out of Yuuri. “Hey, we’re only trying to–” Phichit hisses something at him, “–oh, uh, _how I hate to see you like…_ this.”

His friend doesn’t even try to hide the wince that appears upon seeing him sitting on the toilet.

 _“There is no way you can deny it!”_ Phichit huffs from… under the stall door? Yuuri yelps and pulls his legs away from him. There’s no way they’re not attracting attention from all this. Yuuri tilts his head slightly to peep through the tiny slit of the stall door and definitely catches his patrons eyeing them in confusion. He can’t take it anymore.

Guang-hong’s in the middle of singing, _“I can see, that you’re oh so sad, so quiet–”_ when he shrieks indignantly as Yuuri bursts through the door he’s still hanging desperately onto. Yuuri shoves the bathroom door close and presses his forehead against it.

“You two are ridiculous,” he huffs, not bothering to look up at his friends. He hears Guang-hong jump down from the door and Phichit push himself up. Not a second later, he feels someone’s arms around him as he’s ushered towards the sinks.

Going by the freckled pasty white hand holding tissues towards his face, Guang-hong takes the initiative to begin cleaning him up.

 _“Chiquitita, tell me the truth, I'm a shoulder you can cry on. Your best friend; I'm the one you must rely on,”_ the two men continue singing to him.

Yuuri leans his head back and whines. “Why are you guys still–”

“Hush!” Phichit places a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “We’re trying to make our best friend feel better.”

Yuuri just rolls his eyes and lets them continue.

A hand shoves his head downward to the sink bowl while another turns it on. “ _You were always sure of yourself,”_ they sing, splashing Yuuri’s face with cold water. He sputters, trying to push the hands away.

“I can do this my–”

“ _Now I see you've broken a feather!_ ” his friends drown his complaints by raising their voices. Again, Yuuri shuts himself up and lets his head get pulled up.

God, he looks like crap. His anxiety is full-bodied: shaking, difficulty breathing, and contorting his features to show pain. He’s always hated the effects of it. Before he can think too much of it, Phichit shoves a towel to his face and dries him off.

 _“I hope,”_ they sing, _“we can patch it up together.”_

Both men help him up onto the counter to sit. Somehow Guang-hong had procured a lemon-colored daiquiri adorned with orchids while they were singing and took a few swigs. He hands the glass over to Phichit, who hands it over to Yuuri, and rummages through his massive hand bag.

“What is he–”

 _“Chiquitita, you and I know,”_ Phichit shuts him up by tilting the glass into his mouth, _“How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leavin'.”_

Guang-hong pulls out a comb and starts pulling through his sweat-matted hair as they continue to serenade him.

_“You'll be dancin' once again, and the pain will end; you will have no time for grievin'.”_

Phichit gives him a soft smile, gingerly plucking the flowers from the drink and places it behind Yuuri’s ear after shaking off some of the juice.

 _“Chiquitita, you and I cry,”_ Guang-hong sprays him with something that smells like an odd combination of citrus and the sea, making him gag a little. _“But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you!”_

The two men push themselves onto the spaces on either side of Yuuri, each carefully wrapping an arm around him.

_“Let me hear you sing once more, like you did before, sing a new song, Chiquitita.”_

They both peer at Yuuri whose eyes are still cast downward. Phichit gives him a gentle squeeze, prompting him to look up and gaze into the loving expressions they’re wearing.

It’s natural for Yuuri to give in because his heart is in the song. It’s a silly song they listened to back in college and they began singing it to him as a lighthearted way to ease his anxiety. Even after years, it never failed to make him feel a little better.

He heaves a breath, mustering every ounce of voice he can find, and sings.

 _“Try once more, like I did before, sing a new song–”_ Yuuri sighs. This is too much to bear already. “It’s his dad.”

His friends give him a concerned look.

“Yurio’s? Yuuri, don’t berate yourself now. “You’ve done a brilliant job, and all on your own at that.” Guang-hong chides, taking one of Yuuri’s hands into his own with a firm squeeze.

Of course he doesn’t expect them to understand. They were the first to know about Yuuri’s pregnancy when he found out and they were the ones that saw him through it when his family couldn’t. They saw him through the whole ride and Yurio’s first few years but they never knew the full story. He acknowledges that was his own fault. The two weeks he spent on his own were… messy to say the least. He didn’t handle it in the best way possible (let alone could he remember half of it) and his friends completely respected his silence.

But now that silence had to be broken.

“I–” Yuuri exhales, leaning his weight against the mirror, “I’m not… talking about myself.”

Phichit and Guang-hong frown at each other. “Honey, we don’t follow.”

Yuuri sucks in a breath. _Now or never, and I definitely need it now._

“Okay, uh, you know how I always said Vitya, the Russian skater, was Yurio’s dad?” he mumbles.

“Wait, we’re talking about _Yurio’s dad_?” Phichit gasps.

Yuuri nods. “Yes, his… biological father, before all this–” he gestures to himself, “–ever happened.”

“He was very supportive of your feelings from what you’ve said though,” Phichit hums in thought. “So what about him?”

“Well, it, er, might’ve not been him?” he squeaks sheepishly. The instant the words escape his mouth he regrets the decision as his friends try to jump him. Guang-hong shrikes, falling into one of the sinks.

“ _What_?” They both gasp.

“I was upset okay! I wasn’t kidding when he just up and left! And there was so much drinking and Sara wouldn’t stop dragging me around and– oh god,” he whines, cradling his head in his hands. “But there were two–”

“Two?!”

“–other guys.” He huffs. “There was Christophe, some business owner that took off big time. _Ivoire?_ That company? Yeah, that was him.”

The two men gasp but Yuuri continues before they can interject.

“And then there was Seung-gil–”

Phichit flails his arms at him, “Wait, wait, going of your famous flings streak, could this be like, Seung-gil _Lee?”_

“Probably? Yes? I–”

“Oh my god, Yuuri.”

“Shut up!” He hisses at them. “Anyways, there was a lot going on–”

“Katsuki Yuuri, you shady lady,” Guang-hong snickers.

“Stop interrupting!” Yuuri whines, haphazardly punching Guang-hong’s thigh. “God, this is such a fucking mess.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is then. I mean, yeah I can understand why it’s upsetting you, but why now?” Phichit rubs his arm lightly. That’s the question he’s been dreading.

“Please don’t do anything, but they may or may not be here and they may or may not be in the old goat house and–”

Phichit and Guang-hong both cup a hand over Yuuri’s mouth and grin at each other. Yuuri thrashes, trying to pry himself away.

“The old goat house!” The men squeal. They glance once at Yuuri flailing about and then are running out in an instant.

Yuuri groans. This is exactly what he _didn’t_ want to happen. And now he’s going to have to deal with their incessant chatter about this. He prays to every deity in the universe that they’re gone.

He chases after them, desperately trying to catch up. _How the hell can Guang-hong run in those fucking heels?_ “Guys, please don’t! I don’t need this!”

They round the corner of a maintenance shack with Yuuri kicking at their heels. Neither are phased by his desperation as they burst through the doors of the storehouse.

“Stop! Oh my god, what if they hear you?” He hisses under his breath, finally catching up to them.

“Oh please, they know that you know they’re here so what more can we do?” Phichit snorts as he shoves Guang-hong up the ladder. “Hurry up! I need to see what Yuuri did while we were gone!”

Yuuri elbows him in the side harshly but Phichit just laughs.

“Um, Yuuri?” Guang-hong calls from where his head is through the hatch. “Are you sure they’re here?”

Yuuri’s stomach drops, and he can’t tell if he’s feeling relief or distress. Perhaps an odd mixture of both. He shoves Phichit aside and bats Guang-hong’s feet, urging him to go up all the way.

He climbs, quickly reaching the door, “Do you think I’d lie about my baby’s dads? For gods’ sake they were–”

_Oh._

“Wha? They’re not here?” Phichit whines from behind Yuuri. Somehow he managed to climb up and wrap himself around Yuuri, also gazing around with a pout. “And you said they were hot too.”

“And they still are,” Yuuri grumbles, pushing one of Phichit’s arms aside to jump down. Guang-hong climbs down with Phichit’s help and dusts himself off.

“No. No, no, no, this is so not good,” he mutters, pacing back and forth between old crates.

“But didn’t you want them gone?” Phichit asks.

“Yes! Of course! But I just, I–” Yuuri groans, flopping over a stack of crates. “They’d better be on Seung-gil’s boat by now.”

“Seung-gil has a boat?”

“God, I hope they’ve run aground and drowned.”  
  
“Yuuri, they’ve gone!” Guang-hong sighs as he attempts to peel Yuuri off the crates. Yuuri lazily complies, his body flopping over as he sits up. This is way too much excitement for a single day.

“I know, but Yuri doesn’t know anything about his dad's,” he sighs. “I never told him anything about _who_ the man could be and now all three candidates are running amok on this island and I have no idea where they are and–”

“Yuuri, hon, please calm down.” Guang-hong says calmly, gathering him into his arms. “How about we head back to the room? It’s far too hot out and you look like you need some A/C after all this mess.”

Yuuri nods dejectedly. He’s far too exhausted and all he wants is to lie down.

 

* * *

 

They lead him up to his own room and throw him onto the bed. He lands face down into the down pillows and moans at the cool sensation of the untouched sheets.

“Excuse the mess. I’ve had more important things to do than,” Yuuri gestures vaguely to the surrounding area with one hand, “this.”

“You’ve been through so much already, running this whole place on your own. How do you expect us to be phased by this?” Phichit sighs, seating himself next to Yuuri on the bed. He cards a hand through Yuuri’s damp hair. “How is the A/C here better than the ones in the bungalows? I thought customers came first.” He teasingly tuts.

“What did I do to deserve this,” Yuuri groans into the pillows.

“You sound like your mother.” Guang-hong says flatly sitting on Yuuri’s vanity.

“I do not!” Yuuri quips, pushing himself up and shooting a glare at Guang-hong.

Phichit snorts, “Uh, yeah you kinda do. Poor Hiroko, she has no idea what she’s missing.”

“Don’t you dare bring my mom into this!” Yuuri sits up and buries his face into a pillow again. “This whole thing was my fault and none of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t such a reckless little slut.”

He hears both his friends gasp harshly at his words.

“You _do_ sound like your mother, oh my god!” Phichit guffaws, trying to pry the pillow away from Yuuri.

“No no, Yuuri’s right. Hiroko has _far_ more class than him if he feels the need to berate himself that much,” Guang-hong snorts. Yuuri finally pries the pillow away and throws it at him. Guang-hong yelps, ducking away, as the pillow hits the vanity. “Now you’re making more of a mess.”

“What happened to our Yura, huh?” Phichit says as he pulls Yuuri off the bed. He seats him on Guang-hong’s lap facing the mirror and places a feather boa on his neck and discards the orchids in his hair for a sun hat.

“Life of the party!” Guang-hong adds, teasingly ruffling the boa around his neck.

Yuuri just gives them a dead look. “I grew up.”

Phichit groans and shoves him off Guang-hong’s lap back onto the bed. Guang-hong pulls out his phone and begins tapping away on the screen.

“Well then grow back down!” Phichit chides.

“Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke!” His friends belt together at him.

Guang-hong taps his phone and a song plays from way back when Yura and the Divas were a thing, and boy does it take him back. The two begin dancing at him, urging him to join in. He hesitates, slightly bitter at them for their constant teasing.

And he can’t stay upset because his heart is in the song.

He joins in, singing and dancing at the top of his lungs as they jump on his bed like a bunch of rowdy young adults. Just like the way they were all those years ago when they’d come to the island for fun.

For once, Yuuri doesn’t mind that his past comes to haunt him. Not if it also brings back wonderful memories that make him wonder why he stopped.

He never stopped loving, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live on the hellsite: [y-katsukiis](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)


	7. Our Last Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain – our last summer memories that remain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but these updates will be bi-monthly instead of weekly now! I'm in the process of getting ready to move to my dorm and sorting my life out, so apologies for any delays!
> 
> Everyone comes out differently, and I kinda based Yurio’s on how I imagined doing it. I’m not trans though–I’m genderqueer. I haven’t actually done it but it’s something that I talked to my therapist about for a while. Don’t know when I’ll do it but this is my best case scenario. Yurio also says some things based on my own depression. It's that fear of acceptance when it becomes too much, when you know that despite being used to something it's not okay at all.
> 
> Someone also asked about their ages so here's a quick clarification of that: Yurio is 19 here (I did a good amount of math-ing and research). The age gap between him and Yuuri is based on my own family's. Yuuri is 40 while Viktor would be around 44. Going with Viktor and Yuuri's ages, all the other age gaps are the same for the rest of the characters (ie: Chris is about two yrs older than Yuuri in canon so he'd be 42 here). Same goes for the age gap between Yurio, Kenjirou and Otabek. Hope that makes more sense!
> 
> Not beta'd.

“Where is he? He’s been gone for twenty minutes!” Yurio hisses at Otabek.

The older boy rolls his eyes, “You expect me to know?”

“Well I don’t fucking now!”

Otabek glowers at him slightly. “Look, you’re the one that thought this was going to be a done-deal and now Yuuri’s run off and you expect Kenjirou to deal with it?”

It hurts to hear it but his friend’s absolutely right. Yurio hadn’t actually been counting on his dad to find out about his ex-lovers hiding in his villa. In a fit of panic, the three boys sprinted in the direction of the running man before realizing Yuuri had no idea what was going on. Kenjirou volunteered to keep an eye out for him.

“Yura, don’t you think you should tell your dad?” Otabek sighs, letting his head fall against the wall. They ended up hiding behind another one of the newer storage buildings by the courtyard. “Shouldn’t you at least tell those guys why they’re here?” he frowns directly at Yurio.

Yurio grimaces his lips into a tight line. “I just thought–”

As if on cue, Kenjirou rounds the corner with heavy breaths. “Yuuri’s locked himself in the bathroom! We have time!”

Yurio lifts himself with haste as Kenjirou pulls Otabek onto his feet. He mutters a hundred thank-you’s before they finally reach the old goat house and clambers up the ladder.

“Hey, I know dad saw you and–”

_Oh shit. Oh no, no, no._

“They’re gone!” Yurio gasps as his head whips around the room. There are alarm bells going off in his mind, half in a state of panic and dread while the other feels betrayed and abandoned and–

_Hold on._

In the middle of the floor lies the ruddy air mattress, but what truly catches Yurio’s eye is the folded card propped up right in the center of it. He hefts his way through the door and tries his best to calmly walk over to pick it up.

His name’s written on it in scratchy handwriting that’s pleasing to the eye but mildly illegible. He flips open the note:

_Yurio,_

_Sorry for causing an inconvenience, but we all decided it was best to leave the storehouse. You’ll be able to find us at the public docks for the time being. Seung-gil’s boat has a three blue flags on the mast so it shouldn’t be hard to find._

_Wishing you the best,_

_Viktor_

His heart lurches because _how dare they_ when they promised they’d stay. They promised! He crumples the note into his pocket, jumping down the ladder and sprinting past his friends. His friends are calling him but he doesn’t care.

They promised him.

 

* * *

 

He spots Seung-gil’s boat the second the docks come into clearing. The public dock is much less crowded this late in the afternoon so it makes weaving through the fishing equipment less difficult.

“Hey! Wait!” Yurio breathlessly screams as his feet fumble on the road. He practically sprinted out of the storehouse the second he got down the ladder, leaving his friends in the dust.

“Yurio!” Someone – he’s not sure who – calls out to him from far behind but that doesn’t matter now. He can’t let them slip away. Not when he’s this close to putting the pieces together. He doesn’t want to not know any longer. He wants to fill that gaping hole in his heart.

The boat’s already drifting off but he can spot one of them waving at him as he runs down the wooden platform. He slows down at the edge, gasping for air as they slowly drift away. _You’re not getting away this time!_ He scowls as he kicks off his flip flops and pulls off his shorts.

Living on an island for so long means you gotta learn how to swim.  
  
“Yura, _no_!”

Before he can let his mind warn him how horribly wrong this could all go, Yurio bounces off the dock and dives headfirst into the cold waters of the sea. The cold water bites at his sides as he paddles deftly towards them.

Christophe meets him by the ladder and offers a hand down. “Hey, perfect timing! Seung-gil’s going to take us around the island, care to join us?”

“You–” he wheezes as he crawls onto the deck. “You promised you’d fucking stay! Even if it were just for the party.”

A towel is draped around his shoulders followed by Viktor’s voice. “Well, Yuuri found out about us and wasn’t thrilled in the slightest about it.” He laughs, helping him up and walking away from the edge to rest underneath the mast.

“We’ll be staying on the boat.” Seung-gil offers from the wheel. Despite having one hand on the wheel he seems more preoccupied with his camera settings than steering. “Don’t worry, we never intended on leaving.”

“This island is just as beautiful as we remember it being,” Christophe sighs in content. Yurio eyes the man as he gazes at Kalokairi. He understands now why his dad wouldn’t stop talking about the striking green of his eyes and how unforgettable they could be. He wonders why his dad would ever try to forget that. Why Yuuri was so adamant to hide secrets from him (he’s not an idiot, he knows Yuuri never wanted him to know). Why someone that looks so delicate and beautiful like the man in front of him could cause someone as wonderful and caring as Yuuri so much pain.

“Five days doesn’t sound like a long time,” the man in his view breaks him from his reverie. Christophe’s gaze remains on the island as he mutters under his breath, “But your dad made it feel like a lifetime. Like years and years of experiences in minutes and seconds,” he turns to face Yurio with a sad smile.

His expression is so sincere that it catches Yurio off guard. He wants to understand, not just from Yuuri’s side, but from their own as well. He’s tired of not knowing.

“Tell me more,” he demands before he can stop himself from doing so.

The question catches the Swiss man off guard as his expression falters, yet another smile falls into place. Instead of sadness, this one is full of longing and playfulness. A fondness from another time.

“Your father,” he grunts while adjusting his position to face Yurio better, “Was always full of surprises.

“He was beautiful, and still is. Pulled me in like a magnet despite being a taken man even back then.” Christophe purses his lips.

Ah yes, there was that. “Why’d you give in?”

“Because he understood me better than Stéphane did at the time. We had our rough patches and it seemed as though Yuuri could relate,” he hums, pulling his leg up as he drapes an arm over his knee. “Things were different back then.”

“He was unhappy,” Yurio supplies.

“Mm,” Christophe hums. “But he was also very passionate. A lively soul, and that’s why I think I fell in love with him that night.”

And there’s that smile again.

Yurio decides not to pry anymore. The man seems grateful that he doesn’t as silence stretches between them. It’s nothing uncomfortable, in fact quite the contrary. It helps him clear his mind and talk himself down from the panic that built up from Otabek’s questioning. What does he really expect to gain from this? Should he tell them why they’re here? But it’s not like he could just go up to them and say _hey, I actually invited you guys here because you’re all my potential sperm donor from twenty years ago and yes I’m still mad that you all broke my dad’s heart and left him alone for years_.

No, that would very likely hinder his progress so far. So how should he approach it?

“Yuri,” Viktor calls as he comes onto the deck. Yurio turns around, a little shocked by the man using his proper name. “Would you like a dry shirt?”

Yurio swallows with the realization that he’s both still thoroughly drenched and starting to get very cold. The towel is just about soaked through as well.

“Y-Yes, please,” he manages through a sudden shiver, a dark flush dressing his cheeks. The Russian motions for him to approach and leads him under the deck. Viktor lets him climb down first, respecting what little space they have and easily jumps down after Yurio clears the entryway.

The rooms beneath the deck are surprisingly spacious and homey. For a moment, Yurio is glad that his dad kicked them out because Seung-gil’s boat is far more ideal for living than the old goat house is. In fact, why hadn’t the man suggested it sooner? _There’s even a kitchen!_

“Come,” Viktor says with a breathy chuckle. Yurio inhales sharply, barely aware that he had been gawking at all. “I was surprised at first too,” the man huffs out a laugh as he allows Yurio to pass through to the sleeping quarters, “I still don’t even know why or how he got a boat here.”

“Now,” Viktor continues, “I have normal t-shirts and button ups. Do you have a preference?”

“Shirt will be fine, thanks.” he responds, peeling the towel off his shoulders to dry his hair. He turns his head to grab the hem of his shirt when his eyes catch Viktor still standing. His hands cease moving upon realizing that this man has no idea about his identity.

Viktor calls out, tossing him a shirt followed by some shorts and a belt before telling him to meet him back in the dining room. Yurio just stares at the clothes in his hand; the shirt a light grey with a front pocket and the khaki shorts. It’s thoughtful of Viktor to even add the belt as he helplessly realizes his underwear is still damp.

As he changes behind the closed cabin door, he’s left to wallow in his thoughts. He realizes how ridiculously impulsive it was to just swim out to them. Well there’s no room to judge his decisions anymore after this, he thinks.

So he decides, _I’ll tell them_ , and bundles his clothing in the towel he received earlier. _No chance there’s a drier on here too?_

He walks out with the wet clothing under his arm to find Viktor sitting in the dining booth by the kitchen. His expression is distant and even a little cold. Yurio wonders what’s making him so lost.

Viktor senses his presence a second after the thought. “Ah! Sorry, I didn’t notice you were out.”

“‘S alright.” Yurio shrugs, walking over to the man. “What should I do with these?” He pulls the bundle from his arm.

“We’ll hang it by the deck. Don’t worry, Seung-gil has clothespins.” Viktor replies with a tired smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Yurio still can’t help wondering _why_.

As though sensing Yurio’s thoughts, his smile falters entirely. “Are you alright, Yuri? You seemed, er, not sad, but,” Viktor’s eyebrows furrow as he searches for a word, “How do you say… distraught? By something? Was it us leaving? Because we had no intentions of leaving the island–”

“No, it’s not that.” he interjects quickly. He’s not upset, per se, more so scared. He wants them to know. He wants all three of them to know because if he’s really going to pull through with this (what is he saying _if_ , as though he hadn’t already invited them to the island on a whim) it would only be right… right?

Yurio looks up towards when Viktor is sitting in the small booth in what could barely be considered a dining room. “I want you to know something,” he mutters, taking small steps toward him and wrapping his arms around his middle. “I’m trans. Just like, y’know, my dad.”

He braces himself for what feels like an eternity. It’s more straightforward than he ever expected it to come out, but that’s just it. He never really had to say it outright because his family and friends understood. Even the old folks in the marketplace just began accepting in when he became, well, _him_.

“U-Um,” he starts, gauging Viktor’s expression. He seems to be waiting for him to say something more. “I just t-thought that you should, um, know. But! Don’t tell the others yet, I want to be the one.

Viktor nods, still unreadable. “But are you happy?” He finally says with his eyes now laced with caution and seriousness. It takes Yurio aback for a second, unsure of where their conversation is going.

“More often than not. Sometimes I’m still unhappy with myself.” Yurio answers truthfully because there’s something about those deep blue eyes that feel welcoming. Accepting.

Viktor’s face rapidly dissipates into a soft smile. “Your dad was unhappy too,” he says quietly. “Once.”

He scoots farther into the vinyl seating and pats the space next to him to motion Yurio to sit. The boy complies and he feels the warmth left behind.

“Can you–” Yurio begins with hesitation. “Can you tell me about dad? Before?”

That barely there smile quirks only a little bit higher as Viktor exhales and leans back into the cushions.

“Very different.” he states plainly. “He was unsure, very afraid as well. When I came out with my sexuality I had no idea what anyone would think of me anymore…” Viktor’s voice trails off in uncertainty. “But your dad, Yuuri, he showed me how to be brave. You’re brave too, Yurio. There’s so much more in you than you let yourself believe.”

“Dad says that too, but sometimes I don’t know. Sometimes I get so scared, but…”

 _But sometimes I’m okay with being scared. I’m worried that I’m_ too _okay with it that I don’t know what to do._ It’s a feeling that he’s become so comfortable with, always reccuring and present in his life. Being okay with fear, being okay with feeling helpless, being okay with feeling just enough emptiness to nag at the confines of his heart–

“Do you like drawing, Yurio?”

The questions startles him from his thoughts. It’s as though Viktor could hear every one of them, hearing his mind race a hundred thousand miles and kilometers per hour.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs, visibly relaxing at the change of subject.

Viktor gets up to retrieve a leather-bound journal and set of graphite pencils. Something about the revelation that this man draws puts him off, like it’s completely unexpected. He doesn’t mind though especially from growing up with drawing his thoughts away. In a way, it’s his own secret talent.

And in a way, it makes him feel closer to Viktor too.

The first thing he notices once Viktor returns is that the journal is vaguely familiar. When his hands shift to rest its covers on the table, Yurio’s breath hitches slightly.

“Black Moleskin journal…” he whispers mostly for his own sake. In reality it’s a little far-fetched to assume that his brand choice meant something, but didn’t inviting three strangers from different continents fall under that as well?

To his astonishment, Viktor actually laughs in response. “Yes, I’ve always had a preference for these types of notebooks. And I think you’d know why.”

Yurio’s eyes snap up to face him. The man tears two pages out (Yurio notes how worn the edges of the paper looks) and hands one over to Yurio before gesturing at the pencils.

“What are we drawing?” Viktor hums, reaching over for a pencil after Yurio retrieves his choice.

Yurio thinks for a second. Despite his love for drawing, he’s not the most creative. _Maybe something I could give to him? Ah!_

“Each other.” he suggests shyly.

At that, the two immediately become invested in their own drawings, glancing up every now and then for reference and to make silly faces. So much time has passed in silence that they barely notice Chris’s head poking through the hatch.

“Seung-gil says we’ll be having dinner on the island. There’s an empty harbor coming up,”

“Alright!” Viktor pauses from his sketch to respond. When he whips back around to face Yurio the boy is still completely immersed in his sketching. Other than his slightly furrowed brow, he seems completely relaxed. Viktor only wishes he could see over the arm that’s protectively huddling his drawing. “Yurio?”

Immediately the boy lifts his head. “Hm?”

“Are you done?” Viktor asks setting his pencil down. He picks up his work, folding it over his thumb with two fingers. He gazes at the boy expectantly with a wide close-lipped smile.

Yurio in turn frowns slightly and looks down at his sketch. It’s about done, but... He looks back up at Viktor with a knowing smirk, “Yep.”

“Can I see?”

 _Called it._ “Nope.” he pops the ending of the word and folds his own paper into fours before slipping it in the front pocket of the shirt. Ignoring the look of confusion on Viktor’s face, he grins, taking Viktor's sketch out of his hands and exits to the deck.

He hears Viktor's fond laugh followed by something in Russian as he climbs the rungs.

 

* * *

 

The dock they come upon is exactly on the opposite end of the island, Yurio notes. It’s relatively sparse and in a fairly uninhabited area. Not a lot of people – tourists particularly – seem to know about its location. Yuuri’s told him it’s because the road leading to it is overgrown. He knows there’s also a gate at the fork of the road leading to it, so that’s equally off-putting. Thanks to their realtor years ago, they know the family that owned the land. They don’t mind visitors, they just clearly don’t care about it.

So that’s how Yurio ended up making it one of his personal hideaways for those days when he just had to get out of the villa. Even his friends know about it, and now it seems that his potential other dads do too.

Yurio lead them to a clearing, dangerously overlooking the sea, and they set up camp for the time being there. Seung-gil laid out a blanket for them while Chris explained the various wines and cheeses he had managed to acquire on his way here. He sheepishly admitted that should things have gone better, it would’ve been a gift to Yuuri. They indulged in it anyways, along with the food Viktor and Seung-gil prepared on the boat.

“Yurio, how long have you lived on the island?” Chris asks, as they pass around wine glasses. They allowed Yurio one glass, seeing no harm as he explained that Yuuri let him occasionally as well. As long as he was supervised and _limited_ (he learned the hard way with Otabek and Kenjirou), he’d be fine.

“I was born here,” he replies dully with a shrug. He ignores the glass for now as he pops a cube of cheese into his mouth.

“I envy you. This is quite a place to grow up!” Chris laughs before taking a sip of his wine.

“Eh, not really. Dad and I had to learn Greek to get by. That was easier for me thanks to _babushka_.”

Viktor perks at the term. “ _Babushka_?”

“Oh, that’s what I called the old lady that looked after me,” Yurio explains. He picks up a sandwich, biting into it. “The one that I was named after?” He adds with his mouth full.

“Ah yes,” Viktor hums, “I would’ve been convinced you actually had a _babushka_.”

Yurio raises a questioning brow at that. “Well– I mean, you have very, um, western features?” the man tries to deflect any offense he might’ve caused.

“Yes, I look like I’m half white. What’s it to you?” Yurio says defensively. _Yurio, you idiot, it’s everything to me!_ he scolds himself.

“But who in your family has blonde hair and green eyes?” Christophe is the one to ask this time.

The boy simply shrugs at the question, “No idea. I don’t know much about anyone else other than dad and his friends and family.”

“Oh?” Viktor hums.

“Mm,” Yurio nods. “It’s always just been dad and me.

“Dad’s family is far away and my aunt can only afford to visit every now and then. _Ba-chan_ and – I mean, um – my grandparents are too busy to travel so they compensate with plenty of letters and photos. There’s also my uncles, dad’s friends, but they’re busy too. Last time I saw them was four years ago, but they’re actually here now.”

There’s a tense silence, but it’s quickly broken again. “Do you have any friends?” Viktor asks.

Yurio nods. “I have two friends, Kenjirou and Otabek. Other than that, I guess you could say I have my dad.”

“Do you get lonely?”

There’s that dreaded question. His head snaps up, and all three men are looking at him. He swallows, unsure of how to answer. Instead he lets his gaze stray and gives a weak shrug. An awkward silence begins looming over them.

“You know, since serendipity seems to have brought us all here by whim of a single source, how did you meet Yuuri?” Seung-gil says, finally breaking the tension.

Yurio perks at the question immediately as the other two men groan in unison.

“Are we really doing this now?” Viktor groans weakly with a frown. Chris seems to share the sentiment as they gang up their emotions on Seung-gil. The Korean man quirks a brow then allows his gaze to drift over to Yurio.

And the look on his face floors them immediately.

Chris grimaces, “Anyone ever tell you how powerful that look is?” Yurio nods fervently at the question as he drops the expression. He mutters something about a secret weapon and Viktor snorts.

“Well, to be frank I don’t think his son would enjoy–”

“I would!” Yurio huffs at Chris’ remark, and he adds with a scowl a harsh, “Tell!”

Chris’s eyebrows raise at the sudden admonishment. The boy’s face is laced with something akin to excitement and desperation that he doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Surely enough, however, he resigns and gives in to his demands.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he begins with a smirk, “but your dad is quite the dancer.”

Yurio frowns because he already knows this.

He examines Yurio’s expression carefully as he calculates how to say the next bit. Eventually he opts for saying it straight out because this kid’s practically and adult right? So he continues after a pregnant pause with, “A very good pole dancer at that too.”

And just as expected, the boy chokes on air and sputters a string of Japanese and English profanities. Chris is pretty sure he heard Viktor trip over something as well and Seung-gil’s breath hitch in the background.

“Spare me the details.” Yurio gags out. Uncle Peach and uncle Gee always told him about how diverse of a dancer Yuuri is, but this was… not that surprising. In fact he most definitely knew about it thanks to his Thai uncle but if that was how his dad and Christophe _met_ , well he really doesn’t care much for that trail of thought.

“Tell me what he was like,” he asks instead. “What you were like.”

Chris seems to be surprised at his added request. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

And Chris gives as much as he can. There’s still so much left out, Yurio knows that, but he doesn’t care. He’s waited so long for these moments to know a different side to the stories he’d only ever read about in dusty journals. He revels in the way Christophe speaks as though Yuuri was a warm light when everything began to feel cold, when he thought things might have gone so unforeseeably wrong. How it was Yuuri that eventually convinced him that not all love is lost to the harsh world of reality and how convincing it was even though Chris knew he was going through his own version of heartbreak.

And everything fell back into place, so he did what was best for the both of them.

(Yurio knew Yuuri didn’t, _couldn’t_ , blame him, but he was still so heartbroken.)

When things began getting a little too heavy for any of their tastes, Chris brought up old dancing memories of Yuuri again laced with his own future dance experiences thanks to him. Viktor was more than happy to equally indulge in those stories and eventually their whole conversation ended up on a tangent of embarrassing stories. Even Seung-gil had in on the fun.

Eventually their laughter dies down and the sun is beginning its descent into the sea. It’s such a peaceful feeling that Yurio doesn’t ever want the afternoon to end. He’s leaning against the tree, his head lazily resting over Christophe’s shoulder while VIktor and Seung-gil sit across from them, fawning over dog photos. (He’s glad that both him and Chris can agree that cats are better. Another good reason the man could be his other dad.)

“You know, Yuri, if you ever want to get out of the country, I’d be more than happy to have you visit New York,” Christophe says suddenly. They had been silent for a while, Yurio letting the late afternoon lethargy hit him after his swim and running around the cliff.

“The invitation extends to your father too,” the man adds. Yurio raises his head to fully look at the man with wide eyes. “Only if you want to that is.”

He supposes that it’s almost equivalent to how he called out to them and brought them here, but he’s never really been in out Greece and let alone Kalokairi. It’s… a completely foreign concept to him. He’s practically stewing in island mentality at this point.

But even at the sheer terror of getting on a plane and flying thousands of kilometers, something thrills him at the thought of being able to leave. “I’ll think about it,” he answers. Christophe just smiles at him without expecting anymore of a response.

“I’ll see you there, then,” he adds.

“It’s getting late, we should head back!” Seung-gil calls out to them. Yurio peeks out at the horizon where the sky begins to fade from soft blue to a vibrant orange. He hadn’t realized how long he spent with them. Then there’s that belated thought that Otabek and Kenjirou have no idea where he is or what he’s doing, let alone Yuuri and oh god–

“Yurio?” The Korean ceases folding the blanket they had been resting on to glance at him.

Yurio breaks from his panicked trance to look at him.

“Would you like to steer the boat?”

 

* * *

 

Seung-gil, he learns, is not what he seems. He’d barely known about the man when he sent the invitations to them. All he knew was a name, a location, and where they worked. After all, it was the only way to get to them.

He learns that he man, despite all suggestions that he is nothing but an animal specialist, is a beautiful photographer. He let Yurio hold his camera and explained the different settings as they captured various angles of the boat together. He also may or may not have shown more expression as Yurio played camera man alone with the other two men.

The man was fun to be around, much to his surprise. And he was beginning to see what Yuuri had described all those years ago.

“Hey Seung-gil,” he starts from behind the wheel. There’s not much steering to be done but Seung-gil had let him anyways. “Could you tell me about dad?”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, setting down his camera.

“What was he like?” Yurio tries. Seung-gil revealed that they met at a bar (always a bar it seems, likely attributing to his dad’s not-so-hidden persona), his dad much more sober for this meeting and ended up talking all night. They hit it off pretty well after that. Yurio doesn’t like thinking about the latter part of that story.

“To me? An enigma.” Seung-gil states plainly. “There was such a far off look in his eyes and it made me wonder why he looked so lost.”

“Did he ever tell you why?”

Seung-gil laughs, “I thought you read your dad’s journals.”

“It’s different hearing it from you guys,” he says. “I’m beginning to understand what he wrote back then. Y’know, about you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Seung-gil says. He pulls a cloth out from his camera bag and begins to polish the lenses. “He told me about what happened with the other two, then he told me about himself. Now thinking about it, I see him very much in you.

“He’s learned from his experiences, and they’re passed onto you.”

Yurio stills, staring at him with wide eyes as the man continues cleaning.

“I’m like him.” Yurio says. In the back of his mind, he’s very much aware that his mouth’s been going off without thought since they got here. He blames his excitement.

Seung-gil looks up to face him. He’s hesitant, still full of dread at the worst, but he persists.

“I’m like my dad,” he mutters weakly. “Also tr–”

“I know,” the man says instead, sensing his discomfort. “But thank you for telling me. I’m honored that you’re comfortable around me, even after all this time.” He adds in reference to what Yuuri wrote about in his journal.

Then Seung-gil beams at Yurio unexpectedly.

And Yurio beams back.

The rest of the short ride is spent in comfortable silence with Yurio behind the wheel and Seung-gil nearby. Viktor and Chris cracked open a bottle of champagne between them and sat near the bow, idly chattering about who knows what. But it’s a serene change of pace, and it’s exactly what Yurio needed.

They reach the public dock late into the evening (much later than Yurio would’ve liked but the trip was well worth it). Yurio changes back into his earlier clothing, thanking Viktor for them and all three for spending time with him.

Viktor sees him down to the edge of the pier, really as far as he dared to, before pausing at the beginning of the road.

“I had a wonderful time today,” he smiles as a hand ruffles Yurio’s wind swept hair. The gel Yuuri had put in so thoughtful washed out during the swim and the sea water helped it into light curls as it dried. For once, Yurio can’t bring himself to mind how the ends of his hair scratch at his eyebrows and obscure his vision.

“I did too. Thank you,” he begins, “For staying.”

“Any time.” Viktor hugs him and they finally part for the day.

He can’t wait to tell his friends about what had just happened. He can’t wait to tell them what they’ve told him! Now all he has to do is put the pieces together and–

When he reaches the entrance of the Villa the first thing he notices his Kenjirou pacing near the courtyard.

He hadn’t been gone that long had he?

Kenjirou notices him walk up to the gateway and immediately sprints over.

“Yuri!” he cries out and practically leaps onto the smaller boy. Yurio struggles in his grasp and manages to pry him off.

“What the hell?” Yurio grunts. “You knew where I was.”

“No! We didn’t! We only knew _who_ you were with and to us they are _strangers_!” Kenjirou exclaims. Yurio feels guilty at the admission. His friend is absolutely right.

“I– where’s Otabek?” he asks.

“Jet lag’s still hitting him hard so Yuuri gave him some melatonin. You know how he is after these trips,” Kenjirou sighs. “But we were worried sick. Yuuri even asked about you and we just said you were out doing an errand.

Yurio winces at that. They don’t like lying to him because his dad somehow manages to see right through them.

“And we both know he did not buy it. I’m just thankful he was more preoccupied with something else,” he adds.

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him and Otabek in the morning,” Yurio says. “I’m pretty tired. I’ll be in my room tonight.”

They bid each other goodnight and Yurio deftly makes his way to their house. No use dwelling on it now, he’ll just have to fix it in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Later that night as he gets ready for bed, Viktor notices the grey shirt that Yurio had worn earlier lying haphazardly on the bed. He picks it up to fold but his fingers graze over the form of the pocket.

Yurio had left his drawing.

He glances around. Seung-gil is still on the deck and probably would be for a while, seeing that he brought his camera equipment, and Christophe is still showering. He lets his attention fall back on the shirt as he retrieves the folded paper, wrinkled from their earlier outing.

And as he studies the drawing in front of him he wonders why he feels such a strong pull to Yurio.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live on the hellsite: [tumblr](http://y-katsukiis.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, questions, kudos are always appreciated （＾＿－）≡★


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